lex  iiitortfi 

SEYMOUR  DURST 

FORT   NEW  AJASTERDAi^^^g^^^  (NEW  YORK  )  ,  1651. 

When  you  leave,  piease  leave  this  book 

Because  it  has  been  said 
" £ver'tbing  comes  t'  him  who  waits 

Except  a  loaned  book." 

Avery  Architectural  and  Fine  Arts  Library 
Gift  of  Seymour  B.  Durst  Old  York  Library 


A  Serpent's  Feast 

PEN  PICTURES  OF  ACTUAL  LIFE  IN 
NEW  YORK  TENDERLOIN 


BY 

SIDNEY  ALLEN  DEQUESNE 


INTRODUCTION  BV 

JOSEPH  TYLER  BUTTS 


THE  MANUSCRIPT  COMPANY 

114  Fifth  Avenue  96  Queen  Street 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


Copyright,  1901, 
by 

SIDNEY  ALLEN  DEQUESNE, 
in  the 
United  Stateg 

and 
Great  Britain. 
Entered  at  Stationer's  Hall, 
London. 

All  Rights  Reserved. 


A  Serpent's  Feast. 


PUBLISHER'S  NOTE. 


The  lines  of  public  thought  are  just  now  so 
closely  drawn  about  the  moral  question,  that  any 
excuse  for  publishing  such  a  story  which  delves  so 
deeply  into  the  most  intricate  question  of  the  age 
would  seem  to  be  entirely  unwarranted. 

The  dallying  with  facts  which  in  an  ordinary 
work  of  fiction  might  be  considered  commendable, 
would  be  altogether  unfeasible  in  a  publication 
dealing  so  thoroughly  and  directly  with  the  "red 
light"  question. 

The  publication  of  a  series  of  events  taken  from 
the  records  of  the  notorious  Knockabout  Club, 
pointing  inferentially  as  they  do  to  the  unwhole- 
some conditions  permeating  the  life  of  our  metrop- 
olis should  serve  a  useful  purpose,  however  ap- 
palling and  salacious  they  may  be. 

The  state  of  degradation  which  a  certain  portion 
of  humanity  in  Xew  York  has  reached,  was  re- 
cently demonstrated  by  the  report  of  Eev.  Dr. 
Paddock,  rector  of  the  pro-Cathedral,  New  York, 
which  handles  this  nauseous  question  without  any 
false  delicacy. 

iii 


iv 


Publisher's  Note. 


In  his  statement,  Eev.  Mr.  Paddock  paints  a 
picture  of  the  latest  iniquity  which  bears  out  all 
the  terrible  revelations  outlined. 

The  report,  which  we  clip  from  the  Mail  and 
Express,  is  as  follows:  "In  a  brief  walk  from  the 
pro-Cathedral  it  soon  became  painfully  apparent 
to  me  that  women  were  publicly  soliciting  in 
their  shameful  traffic  day  and  night.  They  were 
soliciting  not  only  men,  but  boys,  and  they  were 
soliciting  men  even  when  they  were  walking  along 
the  street  in  company  with  their  wives,  their 
daughters  or  their  sisters.  Repeatedly  these  wo- 
men solicited  me,  although  I  always  wore  my  cleri- 
cal garb,  which  one  might  assume  would  be  a  pro- 
tection against  such  insults. 

"I  hated,  as  any  pure-minded  man  might  hate, 
to  enter  into  an  open  conflict  with  these  flagrant 
conditions  of  vice.  I  presume  that  any  man  with 
a  regard  for  his  own  feelings  and  any  apprecia- 
tion of  the  forces  arrayed  behind  systematic  crime, 
would  prefer  to  stay  out  of  such  a  combat.  In- 
deed, I  was  much  tempted  to  refrain  from  a  con- 
test to  which  duty  seemed  to  call  me.  I  hoped 
for  some  time  that  some  one  else  would  feel  called 
upon  to  volunteer  for  this  purpose.  But  I  waited 
in  vain.  It  seemed  as  if  no  one  would  take  the 
initiative. 

"I  determined  to  act  myself,  only  after  much 


Publisher's  Note. 


v 


deliberation  and  only  when  boys  and  girls,  as 
well  as  their  parents,  came  to  me  and  begged  me 
to  do  something  for  their  protection  from  aggres- 
sive vice.  Many  of  these  boys  and  girls  were  con- 
nected with  the  work  of  the  pro-Cathedral,  but 
not  all  of  them.  There  were  not  a  few,  entirely 
outside  of  the  pro-Cathedral  work,  who  had 
learned  that  I  was  interested  in  young  people,  and 
came  to  me  for  that  reason. 

"Other  appeals  came  to  me  from  girls  who  had 
escaped  from  dens  of  horrible  slavery;  places  of 
almost  incredible  degradation  and  cruelty;  places 
in  which  these  girls  were  confined  almost  as  if 
they  were  in  chains;  places  where  they  were  com- 
pelled to  yield  every  cent  gained  in  their  dreadful 
subjection  to  their  masters;  places  in  which  they 
were  abused  horribly,  even  beaten  and  kicked,  in 
addition  to  the  unspeakable  atrocities  to  which 
they  were  compelled  to  submit,  until  they  were 
nearly  dead. 

"I  remember  one  case  in  particular.  It  was  the 
case  of  a  girl  who  had  fled  from  one  of  these  dens. 
Her  condition  was  such  at  that  time  that  she  was 
sent  to  BlackwelPs  Island,  where  she  lay  a  long 
time  in  the  hospital.  When  she  was  released  she 
came  back  to  this  part  of  the  city,  looking  for  her 
former  master  and  receiver  of  the  wages  of  her 
shame.    She  was  looking  for  that  master  to  kill 


vi 


Publisher's  Note. 


him.  Her  story  came  to  me,  and  as  a  result  she 
found  her  former  master,  not  to  kill  him,  but  to 
send  him  to  the  penitentiary  by  her  evidence  in  a 
court  of  justice. 

"I  learned  also  that  respectable  people,  dwell- 
ers in  the  tenements,  had  exhausted  every  con- 
ceivable resource  to  protect  themselves  from  the 
vice  surrounding  them.  They  had  appealed  to 
the  janitors  of  the  tenements,  then  to  the  agents, 
then  to  the  landlords,  then  in  succession  to  the 
patrolmen,  the  roundsmen,  the  sergeants  at  the 
station  house,  the  captain,  the  inspector,  the  chief 
of  police.  In  short,  these  respectable  people  had 
made  every  effort  from  the  bottom  to  the  top  of 
every  kind  of  authority  to  rescue  their  families 
from  a  sea  of  corruption  that  surged  up  to  the 
very  thresholds  of  their  homes. 

"Their  appeals  were  in  vain ;  conditions  steadily 
grew  worse.  Complaints  at  the  station  house 
were  ignored;  tenants  who  complained  were  told 
by  the  police  that  this  was  a  free  country.  If 
they  did  not  like  the  conditions  surrounding 
them,  they  could  get  out." 

A  volume  could  not  explain  more  clearly  the 
necessity  for  a  thorough  exposition  of  this  shame- 
ful condition,  which  is  not  by  any  means  peculiar 
to  New  York  on  this  continent. 


AUTHOR'S  INTRODUCTION. 


The  facte  contained  in  this  narrative  are  not 
jotted  down  with  any  precision  as  to  dates,  hav- 
ing been  copied  by  me  from  numerous  notes  taken 
during  the  existence  of  one  of  the  most  notorious 
clubs  which  ever  sprang  into  existence  in  the  City 
of  New  York. 

As  a  charter  member  of  the  club,  I  was  con- 
versant with  everything  that  was  going  on  there, 
and,  as  I  generally  had  the  greatness  thrust  upon 
me  of  recording  the  proceedings  of  the  more  inter- 
esting of  the  meetings,  the  only  trouble  I  have 
had  in  putting  the  narrative  together  was  in  weed- 
ing out  a  lot  of  extraneous  matter  which  would 
have  interested  no  one,  and  would  have  marred 
the  faint  attempt  at  proper  sequence  which  I  have 
made  in  forming  the  narrative. 

The  incidents  and  characters  brought  in  are  all 
actual  facts  and  people,  and  there  will  be  little 
difficulty  experienced  in  discerning  the  silhouettes 
of  some  of  our  well  known  characters  about  town. 
I  cannot  call  them  more  than  silhouettes,  for  there 
has  been  no  attempt  made  at  character  drawing, 


viii 


Author's  Introduction. 


merely  an  effort  to  preserve  in  permanent  form  a 
record  of  a  few  of  the  doings  of  one  of  the  most 
peculiar  institutions  ever  founded  in  New  York. 

The  story  of  Marian  Heath,  which  is  as  true 
as  are  the  storyettes  included  in  the  Tenderloin 
Symposium,  suggested  a  thread  upon  which  the 
other  incidents  of  the  club  might  be  hung  in  a 
natural  manner,  as  all  the  male  characters 
connected  with  that  interesting  young  person  were 
members  of  the  club. 

I  may  add,  in  conclusion,  that  the  Knockabout 
Club  has  now  been  for  several  years  out  of  exist- 
ence. L.  G. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Introduction    xi 

CHAPTER  I. 

In  the  New  York  Tenderloin   1 

CHAPTER  Hi 
Taking  the  Third  Degree   9 

CHAPTER  III. 
At  the  Station-House   20 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Rivals  Weighed  by  Woman   24 

CHAPTER  V. 

A  Modern  Duel   34 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A  Roof  Garden  Conversation  %  51 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Marian's  Dark  Hour   56 

ix 


x  Contents. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

PAGE 

A  Banquet   79 

CHAPTER  IX. 
An  Experience  in  Chinatown   85 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  Cad's  Courtship   106 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Cynic  in  Love   115 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Turning  Down  a  Cad   123 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
The  Tenderloin  Symposium   130 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Love  Lost  and  Found   164 

CHAPTER  XV. 
A  Farewell  Stag   177 


INTRODUCTION. 


This  book,  by  Sidney  Allen  Dequesne,  stamps 
him  as  the  American  Zola.  It  should  command 
universal  attention,  for  it  teems  with  the  fire  of 
genius,  the  force  of  intelligence,  and  the  power  of 
a  gifted  mind.  He  is  one  of  the  first  authors  to 
ably  grasp  a  great  social  problem,  and  by  sur- 
rounding it  with  a  halo  of  romance,  force  upon  the 
reader  the  facts  concerning  the  terrible  and  grow- 
ing evils  which  are  sapping  the  life  blood  of  our 
moral  system. 

In  all  the  realm  of  literature,  there  never  was 
an  author  so  widely  read  as  Entile  Z  >la, whose  early 
writings  were  on  the  same  subject.  The  first  edi- 
tions of  Zola's  books  were  over  one  hundred  thou- 
sand copies  in  France  alone.  He  did  more  to  en- 
lighten, educate,  and  improve  social  conditions 
than  all  other  writers  combined.  His  name  was 
on  every  lip  and  his  books  in  every  home.  The 
world  stood  aghast  at  the  truths  he  so  courageouslv 
told. 

What  an  ironical  fate,  that  his  later  book:;, 
"Lourdes,"  "Rome"  ard  "Paris"  are  scarcely 
read,  and  his  first  book>  almost  forgotten. 


xii 


Introduction. 


It  is  a  strange  fact  that  great  moral  and  social 
questions  are  seldom  comprehended,  until  the  pen 
of  some  genius  weaves  fiction  about  stolid  truths, 
and  thus  brings  them  before  the  vivid  light  of 
realism. 

How  meagre  would  have  been  our  knowledge  of 
slavery  had  Mrs.  Stowe  not  given  us  a  simple  story 
which  set  the  world  aflame  by  its  power  and  ve- 
racity. 

There  is  no  greater  philanthropist  in  the  world 
than  the  author  of  "How  the  Other  Half  Lives." 
By  this  one  work,  Mr.  Eiis  has  helped  the  con- 
dition of  the  poor  and  brought  the  tenement 
house  problem  nearer  solution  than  any  other 
agency  that  has  ever  been  employed. 

Vice  and  crime,  in  the  so-called  "red  light  dis- 
tricts" of  New  York,  grew  to  outrageous  propor- 
tions during  the  recent  local  administration,  and 
made  other  nations  marvel  at  our  seeming  help- 
lessness. 

The  united  effort  and  the  just  indignation  of  a 
righteous  people  found  measures  to  improve  these 
conditions,  but  no  Hercules  was  found  with  suf- 
ficient strength  to  completely  change  this  malig- 
nant state.  Now,  however,  all  must  see  and  know; 
that  within  these  pages  is  the  magic  weapon  which 
will  fitly  equip  the  public  for  a  potent  battle. 
Through  knowledge,  which  is  power,  an  issue  mus? 


Introduction. 


xiii 


be  forced,  and  victory  proclaimed  over  disease  and 
destitution. 

The  writer  of  this  wonderful  book  has  given  an 
honest  record  of  dishonest  deeds,  and,  by  the  charm 
of  his  pen  has  covered  the  rough  edges  of  vul- 
garity. He  has  described  his  characters  in  all 
their  realism,  but  encircled  them  by  such  sympathy 
and  pathos  that  their  unwholesome  environments 
are  almost  overlooked. 

There  could  be  no  greater  charity  than  bring- 
ing before  the  reading  world  the  truth  concerning 
these  evils.  No  laurels  could  be  too  great  to  fi  t  the 
brow  of  such  a  public  benefactor  as  the  author  of 
this  book,  for  by  it,  he  has  implanted  a  foundation 
upon  which  should  grow  health,  self-respect,  and 
happiness. 

The  world  cannot  read  of  his  characters  without 
the  broadest  sympathy  for  their  misfortunes  and 
the  heartiest  applause  and  good  wishes  to  an 
author  who  has  had  the  courage  and  intelligence 
to  give  to  literature  such  an  unusually  instructive 
and  most  graphic  narrative. 

Joseph  Tyler  Butts. 


A  SERPENT'S  FEAST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN  THE  NEW  YORK  TENDERLOIN". 

The  colored  bootblack,  who  was  dozing  in  his 
chair,  as  she  passed,  suddenly  awakened  from  his 
nap  to  notice  her,  as  she  stepped  gracefully  along, 
picking  her  way  through  a  heap  of  children  gath- 
ered at  the  mouth  of  an  alleyway,  which  led  to  a 
rear  tenement  house. 

A  colored  woman,  peering  through  the  lattice 
of  an  open  window,  craned  her  neck  to  watch  her. 

The  man  and  woman  wondered  at  the  dainty 
creature,  as  she  moved  on  gently  down  West  Thir- 
tieth street.  A  clubman  in  evening  dress,  who 
walked  behind  her,  glanced  sharply  at  her,  and 
might  have  accosted  her  but  for  the  conflicting 
evidence  which  her  attire,  conduct  and  demeanor 
gave  as  to  who  or  what  she  might  be.  Finally 
he  cast  a  half  contemptuous,  half  admiring  glance 


2  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


at  the  trim  figure  and  passed  her  by,  as  if  she 
were  too  much  of  a  conundrum  to  trouble  about. 

The  bootblack  finally  left  his  stand  and  walked 
over  to  the  woman  at  the  window,  smiling  to  male 
passers  by. 

"I  wonder  what  brings  such  as  she  around  here 
at  this  time  of  night  ?"  remarked  the  woman,  nod- 
ding in  the  direction  of  the  object  of  their  joint 
attention. 

"Business  of  some  private  kind,  I  suppose,"  re- 
plied the  man  thoughtfully.  "She's  way  out  of 
her  element  here.  See  !  she's  turned  into  the  police 
station — mebbe  she's  lookin'  for  a  lost  brother 
or  husband — an'  mebbe  lots  o'  things." 

"She  walks  as  if  she  was  afraid  any  of  the 
Tenderloin  mud  'd  stain  her  dainty  shoes,  but 
it  ain't  so  far  from  Fifth  avenue  to  West  Thir- 
tieth street  when  you  count  it  in  morals.  Half 
of  them's  no  better  than  ourselves. 99 

The  bootblack  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "That 
chile's  all  right,"  he  said,  speaking  up  with  the 
natural  gallantry  of  his  own  weaker  sex.  "She's 
come  out  of  the  station-house  an'  is  crossin'  the 
street.  Mebbe  she's  goin'  to  the  Knockabout  Club. 
I  kinder  guess  she's  in  a  leetle  difficulty." 

This  ended  the  colloquy  between  the  two. 

The  bootblack's  surmise  was  correct.  The  young 
woman   went    directly   from   the   police  sta- 


In  the  New  York  Tenderloin.  3 


tion  to  the  Knockabout  Club,  which  notorious 
institution  was  situated  but  a  short  distance  away. 

Since  in  the  elaboration  of  this  story  it  will  de- 
velop that  the  young  woman's  destiny  became 
strangely  interwoven  with  that  of  several  of  the 
members,  it  may  be  fitting  at  this  point  to  briefly 
describe  the  club. 

Bizarre  as  may  have  been  other  institutions 
that  have  sprung  into  existence  at  times  in  New 
York,  Chicago  and  other  cities,  the  Knockabout 
Club  is  credited  with  having  out-ranked  all  of 
them,  and  certainly,  if  the  material  which  went 
to  its  make-up  were  not  sufficient  to  produce  such 
a  result,  it  would  be  difficult  to  give  the  reason 
why.  Its  membership  included  a  remarkable 
variety  of  men  about  town,  furnishing  such  a  class 
of  types  as  it  would  be  difficult  to  duplicate. 

In  almost  every  particular,  it  was  the  antithesis 
of  the  conventional  club.  Its  furnishings  were 
either  plain  to  severity  or  ornate  to  the  point  of 
the  fantastic.  For  instance:  its  ordinary  smok- 
ing room  was  the  counterpart  of  a  pioneer  cross- 
roads taproom,  with  its  plain  deal  tables,  sawdust- 
covered  floor  and  unpainted  rocking-chairs ;  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  its  Hall  of  Mysteries,  used  for 
the  purpose  of  initiations,  private  symposiums  and 
entertainments  of  various  kinds  connected  with 
the  club,  was  a  perfect  phantasmagoria  of  quaint 


4  A  Serpant's  Feast. 


furnishings,  collected,  regardless  of  cost,  on  ac- 
count of  their  fitness  for  the  purpose.  Here  and 
there  carved  ivory  images  from  Delhi,  totem  poles 
from  Alaska,  stuffed  alligators  and  snakes  from 
Brazil,  an  Aztec  mummy,  wild  birds,  scorpions 
and  queer-looking  stuffed  beasts  and  skeletons 
of  all  conceivable  kinds — a  melange  of  all  sorts 
of  odd  and  peculiar  notions  from  everywhere, 
with  background  of  costly  curtains  and  screens 
from  China  and  Japan,  and  rich  floor  coverings 
from  Bokhara. 

In  the  rear  of  this  hall,  was  a  place  set  apart, 
it  was  intimated,  for  the  convenience  of  such  of 
the  members  as  wished  to  commit  suicide.  The 
assumption  that  the  place  was  devoted  to  such  pur- 
poses was  based  upon  the  fact  that  the  room  was 
the  secret  initiating  chamber,  in  which  the  Third 
Degree  was  administered,  an  honor  equal  to  some 
of  the  highest  graduations  in  masonry.  It  is  true, 
there  were  in  this  room  all  the  appliances  necessary 
for  self-destruction,  but  they  were  used  only  at 
the  ordeals  through  which  initiates  had  to  pass 
to  become  members  of  the  inner  circle  of  the  club. 

The  reception  and  reading-rooms  were  large 
cheerful  apartments,  furnished  in  modern  style, 
and  with  some  pretence  to  luxury. 

The  main  reception  chamber  was  a  scene  of  in- 
cessant life  and  activity.    The  -  clubhouse,  being 


In  the  New  York  Tenderloin,  5 


situated  within  easy  distance  of  all  the  theatres, 
and  at  what  is  practically  the  hub  of  the  social 
life  of  the  town,  was  a  refuge  for  flaneurs,  musi- 
cians, artists  and  all  sorts  of  people,  who  have 
need  of  a  halting  place  in  the  vicinity  at  occasional 
times.  Here  could  be  seen  men  connected  with 
all  the  professions,  coining  and  going  at  various 
times  of  the  day  and  night — for  the  doors  of  the 
club  were  never  closed. 

The  reading-room  was  one  of  the  favorite  loung- 
ing spots  in  the  building.  Its  walls  were  lined 
with  well-fitted  bookcases  and  its  tables  covered 
with  periodicals  in  every  language. 

Beyond  the  dining-room,  which  was  a  snug  salle- 
a-manger,  with  separate  tables  and  screens,  came 
the  smoking-rooms  and  buffet.  On  the  table  in 
the  smoking-rooms  trays  of  tobacco  and  long  pipes 
were  always  to  be  found,  while  the  large  German 
steins  for  beer  were  there  de  rigueur.  It  was  a 
club  in  which  the  well-dressed  inpecunious  could 
be  as  much  at  ease  as  the  men  who  were  enjoying 
their  heyday  of  prosperity — a  sort  of  social  re- 
public, a  little  niche  of  abandon,  chiselled  out  of 
of  the  stuccoed  front  of  every-day  metropolitan 
conventionality. 

Its  location  conformed  well  with  its  bizarre 
character.  Across  the  street  from  the  front  en- 
trance, flashed  the  lights  of  one  of  the  principal 


6  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


gambling  houses  in  the  Tenderloin  precinct.  The 
windows  in  the  rear  commanded  a  view  of  the 
backs  of  a  row  of  houses  whose  occupant s,  to  judge 
from  scenes  silhouetted  on  the  shades,  led  a  life 
of  extreme  freedom  and  little  applied  religion. 
It  had  been  rightly  said  that  in  whichever  direc- 
tion one  tried  to  leave  the  club,  the  devil  barred 
the  way. 

Upon  this  evening,  a  large  crowd  has  assembled 
in  the  smoking-room,  and,  in  the  reception  chamber 
there  was  another  motley  collection  of  people  gath- 
ered. It  was  about  ten  o'clock,  and  the  men  from 
the  newspaper  offices  were  crowding  in,  many  of 
them  having  concluded  their  assignments  for  the 
day. 

Probably  some  two  hundred  or  more  persons 
were  seated  at  the  tables,  talking,  laughing,  look- 
ing indolent  or  bored  or  feeling  as  the  circum- 
stances might  occasion,  when  into  that  bachelor 
stronghold,  unannounced  and  unattended,  sudden- 
ly walked  the  young  woman  whose  appearance  in 
its  precincts  had  somewhat  already  startled  the 
Tenderloin. 

The  men  stopped  yawning  or  talking,  to  stare 
questionably  at  the  newcomer,  while  a  couple  of 
the  younger  members  left  their  seats  and  advanced 
to  meet  her.  The  door-boy,  meanwhile,  had  fol- 
lowed the  intruder,  and  it  was  soon  learned  that 


In  the  New  York  Tenderloin.  7 


she  was  looking  for  one  Fenelon  Despard,  who, 
she  had  been  told,  was  a  member  of  the  club. 

Harry  Taylor  and  Jack  Harding,  two  young 
members  of  the  club,  came  forward  to  learn  the 
cause  of  this  sudden  invasion  of  beauty,  and  im- 
mediately set  the  young  woman  at  her  ease  by 
procuring  her  a  seat  and  offering  to  make  inquiry. 
Taylor  started  to  find  the  steward,  while  Harding 
questioned  the  other  members  present.  Neither 
of  the  young  men  could  gather  any  information 
about  Fenelon  Despard,  and  both  returned  to  ex- 
press their  regret  at  having  been  unable  to  do  so. 

The  young  woman  appeared  to  be  much  dis- 
appointed, but  thanked  the  two  clubmen  pleasant- 
ly, at  the  same  time  expressing  regret  at  the  neces- 
sity of  her  unceremonious  intrusion. 

"Won't  you  allow  me  to  call  a  cab  for  you, 
madame?"  asked  Harry  Taylor. 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you,''  said  the  young  woman. 
"I  have  only  to  cross  Fifth  avenue,  and  it  is  not 
far.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you."  Then, 
hesitatingly,  she  presented  two  neat  little  cards, 
saying:  "I  am  staying  with  friends  at  this  ad- 
dress. If  you  care  to  call,  I  am  sure  they  will 
thank  you  heartily  for  your  courtesy." 

She  bowed  her  adieu  to  the  young  men  and 
tripped  lightly  away.    On  the  cards  was  the  name 


8  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


"Miss  Heath/'  beneath  which  was  written  "Mrs. 
Williams/'  and  the  address  cf  the  latter. 

"Well !,?  exclaimed  Harry  Taylor,  "what  does 
the  young  lady  wish  to  see  ns  again  for?  Purely 
politeness — desire   to    find   Fenelon   Despard — 


After  a  little  bantering  between  the  friends, 
the  case  was  dismissed  from  their  minds,  and  they 
soon  after  left  the  club  for  their  lodgings.  Xat- 
urally,  Miss  Heath  was  the  subject  of  part  of  their 
talk  on  the  way.  Jack  Harding,  the  younger  and 
more  impressionable  of  the  two,  declared  that  Miss 
Heath  had  an  absolutely  perfect  face. 

"Xice  girl,  apparently,"  replied  Harry  Taylor, 
older,  more  world-wise  and  less  inclined  to  en- 
thuse, "but  what  the  devil  has  a  fellow  named 
Despard  got  to  do  with  her,  that's  the  conundrum, 
and  I  wonder  if  it's  worth  while  solving?  This 
excess  of  civility  in  giving  us  invitations  to  call 
on  herself  or  friends  I  am  inclined  to  think  is 
merely  due  to  an  idea  that  we  can  help  her  to  gain 
some  trace  of  the  man  in  whom  she  appears 
to  be  so  deeply  interested.  The  question  is 
whether  it  would  be  worth  while  to  aid  her  in  solv- 
ing her  little  difficulty.  I  judge  Miss  Heath  to 
be  a  stranger  in  New  York." 


Taking  the  Third  Degree.  9 


CHAPTER  II. 

TAKING  THE  THIRD  DEGREE. 

On  the  evening  following  the  appearance  of  Miss 
Heath  at  the  Knockabout,  there  was  more  or  less 
movement  in  the  club,  owing  to  the  fact  that  an 
initiation  to  the  Third  Degree  was  pending  and 
those  affairs  were  generally  of  a  highly  interesting 
character. 

On  this  occasion,  they  were  to  take  on  an  air  of 
added  interest  in  view  of  the  fact  that  Kat  Sunvidi, 
the  mysterious  Hindu,  who  claimed  to  have  discov- 
ered the  Fourth  Dimension,  was  to  participate  in 
the  ceremony. 

Sunvidi  was  a  subject  of  general  discussion  at 
this  time  in  the  various  clubs  and  in  the  public 
press,  and  his  participation  in  the  evening's  event 
was  expected  to  be  productive  of  something  unique. 

The  first  test  of  courage  given  the  initiate  was 
the  Duel  to  the  Death,  and  this  was  always  fought 
in  the  Hall  of  Mysteries.  The  best  swordsman  in 
the  club  was  selected  to  defend  the  mysteries 


10  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


against  the  attempt  of  the  initiate  to  penetrate 
them,  and  if  the  latter  failed  to  place  his  adversary 
in  a  position  where  his  life  was  at  his  mercy,  he  was 
disqualified  for  the  time  being  and  the  trial  of 
courage  went  no  further. 

When  the  time  for  commencing  the  ceremony 
arrived,  the  Hall  of  Mysteries  was  already  packed 
with  a  large  crowd  of  members  of  the  club,  and  it 
was  soon  mooted  around  that  the  Hindu  was  to 
be  the  new  initiate's  contestant  in  the  forthcoming 
duel. 

The  new  candidate  for  First  Degree  honors  was 
known  at  the  club  as  Jules  Latimer.  He  was  a 
Frenchman  and  an  accomplished  swordsman,  but 
beyond  that,  little  else  was  known  about  him. 

At  half-past  eight  o'clock,  the  principal  officers 
of  the  club  were  assembled  on  the  dais  at  the  end 
of  the  hall.  With  them  was  seated  the  famous 
Hindu  Mahatma,  his  head  surmounted  by  a  high 
white  turban,  and  his  form  wrapped  in  the  usual 
flowing  oriental  robe.  Latimer  shortly  appeared 
and  made  his  way  to  the  dais.  After  a  few  usual 
cmestions  had  been  put  to  him,  it  was  formally 
announced  that  Mr.  Sunvidi  had  been  selected  to 
defend  the  sacred  mysteries  of  the  Third  Degree. 

The  announcement  seemed  to  somewhat  un- 
nerve the  Frenchman,  who  paled  visibly,  when  it 
was  made,  and  betrayed  symptoms  of  nervousness. 


Taking  the  Third  Degree. 


11 


It  was  useless  to  object  to  the  selection  of  his  ad- 
versary, however,  as  he  well  knew;  the  manage- 
ment having  acted  strictly  within  its  prerogative 
in  this  matter. 

When  Latimer  took  the  sword  from  his  seconds, 
after  rolling  back  his  shirtsleeves  and  throwing 
his  chest  forward,  a  hum  of  admiration  passed 
through  the  crowd  of  spectators,  for  the  French- 
man looked  every  inch  an  athlete. 

Throwing  off  his  loose  robe,  the  Hindu  also  dis- 
played an  equally  lithe  and  sinewy  figure.  There 
was  little  doubt  that  he  would  be  able  to  acquit 
himself  satisfactorily  in  the  duel. 

The  salute  given,  a  couple  of  swords  were  soon 
circling  and  parrying  and  counter-parrying  in  the 
space  between  the  two  men.  From  the  first,  it  was 
observed  that  the  tactics  of  the  Hindu  were  more 
aggressive  than  those  of  the  Frenchman,  re- 
sembling more  nearly  those  of  the  Italian  swords- 
men. 

In  height  and  weight,  too,  the  Hindu  had  rath- 
er the  advantage.  That  both  were  masters  of  the 
art  of  swordsmanship,  soon  became  obvious,  and 
that  the  mysteries  of  the  Third  Degree  would  be 
well  defended  was  equally  certain. 

Several  times  the  Hindu,  by  a  thrust  in  quarte, 
which  seemed  almost  savagely  made,  appeared  as 
if  certain  to  break  the  Frenchman's  guard,  but 


12  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


the  latter,  confining  himself  more  to  attacks  in 
sixte  and  tierce,  parried  always  carefully,  cunning- 
ly and  coolly,  until  after  about  twenty  minutes 
of  the  most  exhausting  exercise,  Latimer  had  ad- 
vantage of  one  of  the  Hindu's  missing  thrusts  in 
quarte  and  pricked  him  lightly  in  tierce. 

"Hurrah  for  Latimer!"  shouted  the  members, 
and  several  were  rising,  evidently  with  the  inten- 
tion of  shaking  the  intended  candidate's  hand, 
when,  to  their  horror,  they  saw  the  Hindu,  who 
had  evidently  waited  until  his  opponent  had  re- 
moved his  guard,  deliberately  run  his  sword  clear 
through  the  Frenchman's  body. 

The  action  was  so  sudden  that,  for  a  moment, 
men  sat  almost  speechless,  unable  to  move  a  hand 
to  arrest  what  appeared  to  be  wanton  murder,  and, 
before  any  attempt  was  made  to  reach  the  dais, 
the  two  men  disappeared  as  completely  as  if  the 
floor  had  swallowed  them. 

The  clubmen  instantly  recognized  that  they  were 
now  witnessing,  or  rather  had  witnessed,  one  of 
the  occult  manifestations  of  the  Hindu,  instead  of 
a  deliberate  and  cold-blooded  murder.  The  revul- 
sion of  feeling,  caused  by  the  discovery,  made  them 
applaud  enthusiastically  and,  upon  this,  what 
seemed  to  be  a  (loud  of  mist  settled  down  on  the 
dais,  from  which  shortly  emerged  the  figures  of 
the  two  men,  Latimer  evidently  none  the  worse 


Taking  the  Third  Degree.  13 


for  his  skewering,  and  only  a  trifle  paler  than  he 
had  been  before  the  contest  began. 

While  they  were  discussing  the  rare  skill  of 
the  Hindu,  the  cloud  again  formed  on  the  dais,  and 
the  men  completely  disappeared  from  sight. 

"That's  the  Fourth  Dimension,  the  best  thing 
I've  ever  seen.  Nothing  but  mathematics  could 
do  it  !"  exclaimed  one  learned  sybarite. 

"Pshaw!  didn't  you  ever  get  hypnotized  at  a 
materializing  seance  ?"  piped  a  long-nosed  skeptic, 
with  a  chronic  jangle  in  his  voice. 

"You  must  judge  for  yourself  what  it  is,"  re- 
marked Sunvidi,  suddenly  appearing,  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  every  one,  at  the  opposite  end  of  the 
room,  in  company  with  his  duelling  companion, 
and,  without  further  comment,  the  two  men  made 
their  way  back  to  the  platform,  from  which  they 
had  so  inexplicably  disappeared. 

The  eating  of  the  sacred  muffin  and  the  taking 
of  the  terrible  oath  of  Thibet  were  the  only  other 
public  ceremonies  requisite;  after  these  were  duly 
completed,  the  ordinary  members  dispersed  to  other 
parts  of  the  clubhouse. 

But,  if  Jules  Latimer  had  satisfactorily  passed 
the  first  test,  there  yet  remained  much  for  him  to 
encounter  in  the  "Suicide"  Chamber,  where  the 
final  tests  of  fitness  for  receiving  the  Third  De- 
gree awaited  him. 


14 


A  Serpent's  Feast. 


Into  the  secret  panelled  chamber,  of  whose  con- 
tents none  knew  except  those  who  had  actually 
'taken  the  Third  Degree,  the  candidate,  now  pale 
and  trembling,  as  if  Lorn  some  sudden  unhinging 
of  the  nerves,  was  led  by  De  Marville,  the  president 
of  the  club,  and  another  member  qualified  by  ad- 
mission to  the  inner  circle  to  assist  in  administer- 
ing the  rites.  The  initiate  was  first  led  to  the  elec- 
tric chair,  an  arrangement  which  formed,  as  nearly 
as  possible,  an  ex?  t  counterpart  of  the  one  used 
for  the  execution  of  murderers  in  the  State's  prison 
at  Sing  Sing.  The  manner  of  working  the  elec- 
tric button,  which  would  enable  him  to  tick  him- 
felf  off  into  eternity,  was  explained  carefully  to 
Latimer,  but  the  fact  that  the  voltage  produced 
by  the  current  would  be  so  heavy  as  to  leave  him 
unharmed  was  judiciously  omitted;  the  Spartan 
ceremony  having  been  planned  solely  to  test  the 
courage  and  confidence  of  applicants  for  the  degree. 

From  the  death  chair,  Latimer  was  led  to  the 
arsenal,  a  small  cabinet,  containing  a  collection  of 
revolvers.  The  candidate  was  informed  that  each 
of  the  pistols  was  loaded ;  to  emphasize  which,  De 
Marville  picked  up  what  was  apparently  the  first 
of  the  weapons  th^t  came  to  hand  and,  setting  a 
tumbler  up  at  a  distance  of  about,  twelve  paces, 
fired  at  it,  shivering  the  target  to  atoms  at  the 
Hrst  shot.    As  this  was  the  only  loaded  pistol  in 


Taking  the  Third  Degree.  15 


the  collection,  the  risk  left  to  the  candidate  was 
not  great,  but  of  that  fact,  he  was  also  left  in  bliss- 
ful ignorance. 

From  the  arsenal,  Latimer  was  led  to  the  poison 
cabinet,  a  neatly  arranged  affair  in  which  were 
placed  a  number  of  bottles,  labelled  plainly  with 
the  names  of  ordinary  poisons  and  carefully 
marked  with  the  dose  requisite  to  produce  a  fatal 
result.  Beside  the  cabinet  was  a  pair  of  apothe- 
cary scales,  and  every  detail  seemed  to  have  been 
considerately  arranged  for  the  convenience  of  the 
victim.  A  close  observer  would  have  noticed  that 
the  list  of  poisons,  although  including  none  that 
was  not  deadly,  contained  none  that  were  imme- 
diate in  their  effect.  In  addition  to  this,  the 
strength  of  the  poisons  was  so  arranged  that  serious 
results  could  not  have  been  obtained,  by  using 
the  dose  specified,  and  moreover,  in  a  secret  drawer 
of  the  cabinet  were  emetics,  antidotes  and  a  stom- 
ach-pump, ready  for  any  emergency. 

As  has  been  said,  this  room  was  the  supreme 
test  of  courage  and  faith  in  fraternity.  Of  the 
precautions  taken  to  prevent  injury  to  himself, 
nothing  whatever  was  known  or  suggested  to  the 
initiate.  It  was  for  him  to  divine  how  to  act, 
to  trust,  and  to  do  as  he  deemed  best  for  his  own 
welfare. 

Having  carefully  explained  to  Latimer  the  time 


A  Serpent's  Feast. 


required  for  the  poisons  to  take  effect,  De  Marville 
and  his  assistant  led  him  to  a  catafalque,  which 
occupied  the  centre  of  the  chamber.  Beneath  this 
gruesome  receptacle,  reposed  a  costly  rosewood 
coffin,  which  appeared  as  inviting  a  domicile  as 
one  could  wish  to  tenant  upon  departure  for  the 
long  journev. 

Beside  the  catafalque,  De  Marville  paused.  "The 
brother  now  faces  death/'  he  said,  solemnly.  "Let 
him  take  his  choice  between  it  and  the  vanities 
and  vexations  of  mortal  existence.  There  is  no 
good  cause  for  which  death  should  not  willingly  be 
faced.    Jules  Latimer,  are  you  prepared  to  die?" 

The  blood-curdling  accents  of  De  Marville  at 
this  juncture  were  calculated  to  momentarily  ter- 
rify even  the  bravest,  coupled  as  they  were  with  the 
dismal  accessories  of  the  Suicide  Chamber.  Paus- 
ing for  an  instant,  as  if  to  gain  additional  impres- 
siveness  for  the  coming  feature  of  the  ceremony, 
he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Latimer  and  asked,  in  a 
funereal  voice : 

"Jules  Latimer,  are  you  now  prepared  for 
death?" 

For  a  moment  Latimer  hesitated.  The  cere- 
monial seemed  to  have  temporarily  bewildered 
him.  Then  he  answered  in  his  usual  tone  of 
voice,  repeating  from  the  stereotyped  ritual: 

"I  am  prepared  for  death." 


Taking  the  Third  Degree. 


17 


"Bring  hither  the  shroud  and  the  wreath  of 
laurel.  We  will  now  crown  our  brother  a  knight 
of  the  noble  Order  of  Death." 

De  Marville's  companion  produced  the  articles 
called  for.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  real- 
istically significant  of  the  actual  presence  of  the 
grand  denouement.  De  Marville  might  have  been 
a  Torquemada,  and  his  companion  an  executioner 
of  the  Middle  Ages. 

"Kindly  disrobe,  brother,  and  assume  the  garb 
of  immortality.  Your  present  clothes  will  be  sent 
to  your  friends  when  you  shall  have  passed  away. 
Eetain  only  your  underclothes  to  wear  beneath  the 
shroud." 

Latimer  mechanically  obeyed  these  instructions. 
The  shroud  and  gown  were  then  adjusted.  Lati- 
mer's clothes  were  then  folded  up  and  taken  in 
charge,  and  De  Marville  said: 

"We  will  now  give  you  final  instructions, 
brother.  Yonder  you  see  a  timepiece,  which  we 
will  request  you  to  watch  in  case  you  should  select 
poison  as  the  means  by  which  to  make  your  exit 
from  the  world.  By  disposing  of  yourself  in 
your  coffin  before  the  fatal  moment  arrives,  you 
will  spare  us  unnecessary  bother.  Should  you  use 
one  of  the  pistols,  as  a  means  of  happy  dispatch 
from  your  present  troubles,  you  will  find  a  mirror 
opposite  to  the  coffin,  which  will  enable  you  to 


18  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


take  accurate  aim  as  soon  as  you  have  placed 
yourself  comfortably  within  it.  Adieu,  brother! 
This  is  our  last  mortal  farewell.  May  you  have 
courage  to  face  the  ordeal  before  you  and  acquit 
yourself  so  as  to  become  one  of  the  great  souls 
who  rule  this  order  from  the  vantage  ground  of 
a  higher  plane  of  existence." 

De  Marville  and  his  companion  then  withdrew, 
leaving  Latimer  to  his  own  deliberations. 

They  did  not  go  far.  The  walls  of  the  Suicide 
Chamber  were  pierced  with  minute  holes,  which 
permitted  those  on  the  outside  to  watch  closely 
what  was  going  on  within.  To  stand  here  and 
"watch  the  fun  begin"  was  the  next  number  on  the 
programme.  Several  of  the  members  of  the 
Third  Degree  had  already  posted  themselves  there 
in  readiness  for  any  untoward  event  that  might 
occur  inside  the  chamber. 

After  walking  around  the  room  for  some  time 
in  an  apparently  dazed  condition,  Latimer  went 
over  the  possibilities  so  considerately  furnished  to 
further  his  hasty  exit  from  existence,  examining 
the  chair,  the  poisons,  the  pistols  and  the  coffin, 
carefully,  each  in  turn.  The  examination  seemed 
to  give  him  little  satisfaction,  for  he  put  his  hand 
to  his  head  several  times,  as  if  suffering  from 
some  abnormal  pressure  on  his  brain. 

In  the  rear  of  the  room,  facing  the  backs  of  the 


Taking  the  Third  Degree. 


19 


row  of  houses  on  the  street  below,  was  a  large 
window  which  had  been  glazed  with  ground  glass. 
It  was  to  this  window  that  Latimer's  attention  was 
suddenly  directed.  He  now  commenced  to  be 
excited  and  his  eyes  glared  with  a  strange  fierce- 
ness, as  if  the  ceremonies  had  almost  unseated  his 
reason.  Finding  that  the  window  did  not  open, 
his  excitement  increased,  and  those  who  were 
watching  him,  saw  him  stand  for  a  moment  as  if 
facing  prison-bars,  or  like  a  madman  surveying 
the  walls  of  his  padded  cell.  Thus  momentarily 
he  paused  and  then  flung  himself  with  all  his  force 
against  the  thick  glass,  shattering  it  and  falling 
through  the  sash  to  the  yard  below.  Without 
waiting  to  see  whether  he  were  pursued,  he  fled 
down  the  garden  and  quickly  scaled  the  wall  divid- 
ing the  two  rows  of  houses. 

Amazed  at  the  sudden  and  unexpected  turn 
affairs  had  taken  in  the  Suicide  Chamber,  the 
clubmen  were  for  a  moment  too  confounded  to  act, 
but,  after  a  momentary  stupefaction,  a  number  of 
them  promptly  decided  to  go  at  once  to  the 
station-house,  where,  in  all  probability,  the  crazy 
Latimer  was  likely  to  arrive.  The  sacred  muffin 
and  the  fatal  potion  had,  alas,  phased  one  more 
candidate  for  admission  to  the  highest  honors  of 
the  Knockabout  organization.  Had  they  trans- 
formed Jules  Latimer  into  a  madman? 


20  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


CHAPTER  III. 

AT  THE  STATION-HOUSE. 

Some  two  hours  subsequent  to  the  duel  between 
the  Hindu  and  Latimer,  Harry  Taylor  and  Jack 
Harding  decided  that  things  were  getting  slow  at 
the  club  and  started  for  their  apartments. 

After  leaving  the  Knockabout,  they  had  tra- 
versed about  two  blocks  when  their  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  crowd  following  in  the  wake  of  a 
policeman  and  his  prisoner.  Mingling  with  the 
crowd,  the  young  men  learned  that  the  man 
arrested  was  apparently  insane.  He  had  rushed 
out  of  a  house  of  doubtful  reputation  in  Twenty- 
ninth  street,  unconventionally  clad,  and  had  run 
directly  into  the  arms  of  a  policeman.  The  case 
was  one  by  no  means  uncommon  in  that  part  of 
the  city.  The  man  had  either  entered  or  been 
taken  to  an  illegal  resort.  There  he  had  been 
the  victim  of  harpies  or  perhaps  of  a  panel  game, 
having  been  drugged,  robbed,  beaten  and  finally 
turned  out  half  naked  into  the  streets.    So  ran 


At  the  Station-House.  21 


the  ready  story  of  that  master  fictionist,  the  Crowd. 

Curiosity  impelled  the  two  clubmen  to  follow 
the  rest  into  the  station-house.  They  saw  that 
the  man  in  custody  was  Jules  Latimer,  and  they 
also  noticed  several  of  the  leading  members  of  the 
Knockabout  fighting  their  way  to  the  sergeants 
desk. 

Captain  Chapman  himself  came  forward  to  take 
a  hand  in  the  examination  of  the  prisoner.  The 
man  was  under  the  influence  of  a  drug  and  spoke 
never  a  word  in  reply  to  the  sergeant's  question- 
ing, and  the  famous  Tenderloin  captain  fared  no 
better.  The  officer,  searching  the  prisoner's 
pockets,  produced  a  cardcase  and,  from  one  of  the 
cards,  read  out  the  name  "Fenelon  Despard." 

Harding  and  Taylor  exchanged  significant 
glances,  when  they  heard  the  name,  but  neither 
spoke.  Two  of  the  other  Knockabout  men  pres- 
ent stepped  up  and  shook  hands  with  Captain 
Chapman.  They  told  him  the  prisoner  was  an  ac- 
quaintance of  theirs,  that  he  had  been  drinking 
heavily  for  a  few  days  past.  They  urged  his  re- 
moval to  Bellevue,  from  whence  they  promised  to 
take  him  to  his  home  the  following  day,  in  case 
he  had  sufficiently  recovered.  To  this  the  captain 
readily  agreed,  and  the  prisoner  was  led  into  the 
officer's  quarters,  after  which  the  curious  crowd 
dispersed. 


22  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


Jack  Harding  and  Harry  Taylor  were  about  to 
follow,  when  the  clubmen  detained  them.  Al- 
though unwilling  to  be  mixed  up  in  such  an  affair, 
from  motives  which  they  could  not  have  easily 
defined  just  then,  the  two  friends  were  persuaded 
to  remain. 

"We  asked  you  to  stay,"  spoke  one  of  the  club- 
men, "in  order  that  we  might  make  an  explana- 
tion. This  little  incident,  of  which  you  have  been 
a  witness  here,  was  unfortunately  the  result  of  an 
unforeseen  effect  which  the  initiation  ceremonies 
produced  upon  the  nervous  organization  of  our 
friend  Latimer.  In  reality,  he  rushed  out  of  the 
back  door  of  the  club,  escaping  thence  across  the 
wall  to  the  houses  in  the  rear  which  front  on 
Twenty-ninth  street.  His  semi-nude  condition  so 
frightened  the  inmates  of  the  house,  that  they  were 
unable  to  prevent  him  from  rushing  through  into 
the  street  and  into  the  policeman's  arms.  We 
thought  it  would  be  best  to  let  him  be  registered 
under  a  false  name  and  to  allow  the  police  to  be- 
lieve that  he  had  escaped  from  this  house,  in  order 
to  avoid  bringing  any  notoriety  to  the  club,  which 
is  already  sufficiently  advertised.  Your  absolute 
silence  on  this  subject  is,  of  course,  indispensable, 
gentlemen." 

"We  pledge  our  word  readily  to  that !"  exclaimed 
Jack  Harding,  adding,  "only  kindly  give  us  some 


At  the  Station-House.  23 


idea  of  what  caused  such  a  tremendous  upset  to 
Latimer's  mind,  if  by  so  doing  you  do  not  violate 
the  by-laws  of  the  club." 

"I  can  only  say,"  replied  De  Marville,  "that  the 
ceremony  of  the  Third  Degree  is  somewhat  grue- 
some in  some  of  its  details,  and  that  our  friend's 
nerves  broke  down  completely  under  the  strain. 
We  hear  also  that  he  is  a  morphine  eater,  which 
would  explain  the  cause.  You  will,  undoubtedly, 
some  day,  have  an  opportunity  to  learn  what  the 
Third  Degree  is  for  yourselves,  if  you  remain  mem- 
bers of  the  club." 

The  party  then  left  the  station-house  together, 
Jack  and  Harry  pursuing  their  interrupted  home- 
ward journey.  As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  Harry 
emitted  an  odd  whistle  and,  turning  to  his  friend, 
remarked : 

"What  do  you  think  of  our  friend's  alias?  Are 
you  going  to  say  anything  to  Miss  Heath  about  it 
when  you  see  her  ?" 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Jack,  decisively.  "We 
are  unfortunately  prevented  from  doing  so  by  the 
promise  we  have  just  given." 

"Well,"  answered  Taylor,  "it  is  an  unmitigated 
nuisance,  but  we  can  nevertheless  watch  develop- 
ments, even  if  our  tongues  are  tied  for  the  time 
being." 


24  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

RIVALS  WEIGHED  BY  WOMAN. 

The  male  neophyte  in  love  is  a  creature  to  be 
pitied.  His  emotions  so  far  dominate  his  entire 
personality  as  to  throw  everything  else  for  the 
moment  into  an  absurd  disproportion.  He  be- 
comes so  immoderately  self-conscious  that  it  is 
with  difficulty,  hardened  as  he  may  be  to  the  usages 
of  civilization,  that  he  retains  the  aplomb  which 
characterizes  him  in  the  ordinary  concerns  of  life. 

Harding  found  himself,  for  the  first  time  in  the 
course  of  his  existence,  as  he  thought,  really  in  love, 
or  at  least  most  vividly  impressed  by  a  woman. 

The  impression  which  she  had  created  upon  his 
thoughts,  in  so  brief  an  interview  as  he  had  en- 
joyed, was  sufficiently  strong  to  make  him  desire  to 
renew  the  acquaintance  as  soon  as  possible. 

He  therefore  decided  to  lose  no  time  in  calling 
upon  Miss  Heath,  and,  the  following  evening  with 
that  intention,  dressed  himself  most  carefully  and 
made  his  way  to  the  Williams'  residence. 

A  young  man  of  the  stamp  of  Jack  Harding 


Rivals  Weighed  by  Woman.  25 


could  scarcely  have  been  suspected  of  diffidence, 
yet  when  he  faced  the  vision  of  loveliness,  which 
crossed  the  drawing-room  to  meet  him,  with  radi- 
ant smile  and  hand  extended,  he  became  percepti- 
bly overwhelmed.  Pretty  as  Miss  Heath  had 
seemed  on  a  previous  evening,  he  was  completely 
overpowered  by  her  appearance  now.  Gowned  in 
vestal  white,  the  soft  clinging  material  of  her  robe 
permitted  the  free  display  of  contours  and  also  the 
easy  grace  of  deportment  which  added  to  her  at- 
tractions. Miss  Heath  was  certainly  an  extraordi- 
narily beautiful  woman — girl  would  scarcely  have 
been  the  correct  word — although  there  was  a  depth 
of  apparently  child-like  innocence  in  those  lumi- 
nously dark  violet  eyes,  fringed  with  long  black 
lashes,  which  beamed  upon  him. 

Harding  had  only  a  moment  or  two  to  take  in 
the  picture  before  they  met.  He  saw  that,  over  a 
broad  white  forehead,  curled  the  softest  chestnut 
hair,  forming  part  of  the  frame  of  a  dainty  but 
abundant  coiffure.  The  nose  was  extremely  deli- 
cate, with  a  retrousse  tendency,  while  the  red  lips 
parted  in  a  smile,  which  was  bewitchingly  piquant. 

"I  am  glad  you  came/'  she  said. 

"I  was  almost  beginning  to  feel  lonely  in  this 
big,  big  city  of  yours." 

There  was  a  mischievous  smile,  half  veiled,  with 
the  savoir  faire  of  a  well-bred  woman. 


26  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


"I  am  afraid  that  I  ventured  very  much  into  the 
lion's  den  in  coming  into  that  great  club  of  yours," 
she  remarked,  with  the  ingenuousness  of  a  child, 
"but,  like  all  women,  you  know,  I  am  a  little  im- 
petuous, and  Mr.  Despard  is  an  old  friend  of  mine, 
whom  I  was  most  anxious  to  see,  during  my  present 
trip  to  New  York. 

"I  will  bring  Mrs.  Williams  and  present  you  to 
her,"  said  Miss  Heath,  rising  and  excusing  herself. 

For  a  few  moments,  Jack  was  left  to  his  own 
thoughts. 

Miss  Heath  soon  returned,  bringing  with  her  a 
tall,  matronly,  gray-haired  woman  to  whom  Jack 
was  presented  as  "Mr.  Harding,  the  gentleman  who 
kindly  made  inquiries  for  me  at  the  club,  respect- 
ing Mr.  Despard's  whereabouts." 

Mrs.  Williams  bowed  and  thanked  Mr.  Hard- 
ing for  his  kindness,  to  which  J ack  replied  that  it 
had  merely  been  an  act  of  passing  civility  and 
that  he  regretted  having  been  absolutely  of  no 
assistance.  He  was,  nevertheless,  glad  to  have 
made  Miss  Heath's  acquaintance,  and  hoped  that 
he  would  some  time  be  able  to  render  the  young 
lady  some  service,  adding,  that  with  Mrs.  Williams' 
acquiescence,  he  hoped  he  might  be  permitted  to 
continue  the  acquaintance. 

"You  will  be  very  welcome  any  time  that  you 
may  wish  to  call/'  responded  Mrs.  Williams.  Then 


Rivals  Weighed  by  Woman.  27 


excusing  herself  on  the  ground  of  household  du- 
ties, Mrs.  Williams  bade  the  caller  adieu  and  left 
the  young  people  again  to  themselves. 

Miss  Heath  was  disposed  to  be  quite  amiable 
and  pressed  Jack  to  stay  longer,  when  he  remarked 
that  he  thought  the  purpose  of  his  visit  had  been 
accomplished. 

The  conversation,  mainly  led  by  Miss  Heath,  ex- 
tended into  various  channels  and  the  young  lady 
proved  herself  an  excellent  hostess.  She  described 
her  travels  with  a  maiden  aunt  in  such  a  vivid  and 
picturesque  way  that  time  seemed  to  fly  at  light- 
ning pace,  and  when  Jack  arose  to  go,  it  was  with 
a  feeling  that  he  was  leaving  the  nearest  approach 
to  paradise  with  which  he  had  thus  far  come  in 
reach  on  earth.  With  a  promise  to  soon  call  again, 
he  left,  turning  over  in  his  mind,  during  his  home- 
ward walk,  the  many  things  that  occur  to  a  young 
man  when  he  feels  that  the  first  crisis  of  his  life 
has  arrived. 

But,  alas  !  How  few  of  the  dreams  we  dream  in 
the  delightful  period  of  our  adolescence  ever  come 
true ! 

Closely  connected,  although  strongly  differen- 
tiated, were  the  characters  of  the  two  young  men, 
who  had  formed  such  a  hard  and  fast  friendship. 
They  were  ordinary  types — in  their  class — of  life 
in  Chicago  and  New  York:  commonplace  people, 


28  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


agreeable,  but  never  distingue.  The  friendship  of 
Harding  and  Taylor  was  clearly  a  case  of  opposites 
proving  mutually  attractive.  The  nature  of  Jack 
Harding  was  ingenuous  in  the  extreme,  and  the 
mere  thought  of  doing  a  mean,  unmanly  action 
could  not  possibly  have  been  entertained  by  him. 

While  the  same  might,  perhaps,  have  been  said 
of  Harry  Taylor,  he  was  far  from  possessing  a  sim- 
ple nature.  He  came  of  that  type  of  modern 
American,  which  considers  over-reaching  the  acme 
of  cleverness  and  of  business  tact;  whose  ideal  of 
life  is  always  to  be  scoring  points  on  any  and 
everything,  from  those  of  the  smallest  to  those  of 
the  greatest  magnitude.  Such  is  the  new  order  of 
self-worshippers  whose  creed  is:  "The  Devil  take 
the  hindmost."  Harry  Taylor,  in  fact,  possessed 
the  selfishly  aggressive  characteristics,  which 
philosophical  deduction  tells  us  have,  in  the  main, 
led  to  the  creation  of  our  millionaires  and  social 
autocrats. 

Hitherto,  there  had  not  arisen  a  question  of 
rivalry  between  the  two  friends,  but  it  was  a  cer- 
tainty, that  should  such  an  eventuality  result,  there 
would  be  no  self-sacrifice  shown  on  the  part  of 
Harry  Taylor.  In  fact,  with  his  cynical  nature, 
it  is  doubtful  if  h3  would  ever  have  thought  of 
calling  upon  Miss  Heath,  had  not  the  thought  that 
his  friend  was  in  love  with  her  whetted  his  appe- 
tite. 


Rivals  Weighed  by  Woman,  29 


Jack  said  nothing  to  Harry,  upon  returning  to 
their  bachelor  quarters,  on  the  night  of  his  visit 
to  Miss  Heath,  concerning  the  occurrence,  but 
the  other,  nevertheless,  suspected  where  the  ab- 
sentee had  been  and  determined  to  lose  no  time  in 
covering  the  same  ground. 

On  the  evening  following  that  upon  which  Jack 
made  his  debut  at  the  Williams*  home,  Harry  ac- 
cordingly presented  himself  there,  induced,  it  must 
be  admitted,  more  by  a  highly  piqued  curiosity 
than  by  any  embryo  infatuation  for  the  fair  visi- 
tant at  the  Knockabout  Club. 

Mr.  Taylor  was  extended  fully  as  cordial  a  wel- 
come as  had  been  his  friend,  and  did  not  fail  to 
note  the  extreme  beauty  and  chic  of  what  he  had 
mentally  classified  as  "the  Fair  Mystery." 

Miss  Heath  observed  at  a  glance  that  her  visitor 
had  not  spent  as  much  time  upon  his  toilet  as  had 
her  caller  of  the  evening  previous  and  mentally 
drew  her  deductions  from  the  circumstance.  In- 
deed, when  her  eyes  rested  upon  those  of  her 
vis-a-vis,  she  saw  in  their  sparkling  depths,  she 
thought,  the  symptoms  of  a  challenge. 

Here  was  one  who  had  come  to  her  to  question 
ra/ther  than  to  surrender,  to  pique  a  curiosity  or 
indulge  a  penchant  rather  than  to  tender  a  gentle 
homage  or  a  genuine  admiration. 

Harry  Taylor  was  a  little  conceited,  as  he  proba- 


30  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


bly  had  a  right  to  be,  for  the  young  man  was  a 
fair  type  physically,  while  mentally  he  was  what 
might  be  termed  "bright."  To  these  advantages, 
he  added  the  further  one  of  possessing  a  few  ac- 
complishments. 

Mrs.  Williams  was  not  at  home  on  the  occasion 
of  his  call,  but  Miss  Heath  apologized  for  her  ab- 
sence and  promised  that  at  some  future  time  she 
would  be  there  to  thank  him  for  his  kindness  at 
the  Knockabout  Club. 

Assuring  his  hostess  that  "the  absence  of  Mrs. 
Williams  didn't  particularly  trouble  him,"  Taylor 
asked  if  he  would  be  permitted  to  render  a  few 
selections  on  the  piano,  a  proposition  to  which  Miss 
Heath  readily  assented. 

The  young  man  played  several  "coon"  songs  and 
ditties,  accompanying  them  with  a  rather  rich, 
melodious  voice.  A  love  song  and  a  ragtime  crea- 
tion were  included  in  his  somewhat  versatile  reper- 
toire and  he  wound  up  the  performance  with  a  well 
satisfied  banging  of  the  keys,  and  Miss  Heath  ap- 
peared to  be  delighted.  It  was  clear  that  although 
she  found  herself  in  the  presence  of  a  young  man 
who  had  not  come  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet, 
Miss  Heath  enjoyed  his  company  much  more  than 
she  had  that  of  her  preceding  visitor. 

"Now,"  said  Harry,  turning  from  the  piano  and 
in  the  most  familiar  tone  that  could  possibly  have 


Rivals  Weighed  by  Woman.  31 


been  based  upon  so  brief  an  acquaintance,  "let  me 
hear  what  your  impressions  of  New  York  are, 
Miss  Heath  ?"  He  settled  himself  in  an  easy-chair, 
with  an  air  of  absolute  proprietorship,  which  it 
appears  quite  natural  for  some  men  to  assume 
without  seeming  to  presume. 

"The  most  noticeable  thing  in  Xew  York,  is  that 
disagreeable  spirit  of  'rash/  which  destroys  the 
beauty  of  everything  it  affects.  Why,  Mr.  Taylor, 
do  New  Yorkers  hurry  about  as  if  the  passing  day 
were  the  last  they  had  to  live  on  earth,  or,  in  fact, 
each  hour  the  last  one  allotted  to  their  existence?" 
said  Miss  Heath. 

"You  must  attribute  this,  I  think/'  said  Mr. 
Taylor,  authoritatively,  "to  our  natural  and  un- 
diluted energy  and  to  our  firm  belief  in  the  fact, 
that  the  first  to  come  should  be  the  first  served. 
In  the  Temple  of  Success  which  is  our  great  shrine 
to-day,  there  are  places  for  only  a  few.  and  those 
who  want  to  get  them  must  hustle.  We  are  the 
fastest  people  on  earth,  and  like  to  see  things  fly 
along.  We  want  the  fastest  trains,  the  fastest 
yachts,  the  fastest  automobiles,  the  fastest  horses, 
the  fastest  everything.  We  want  it  fast  or  noth- 
ing— even  in  the  ways  of  fortune  or  of  love." 

His  eye  swept  the  mobile  face  before  him,  as  he 
uttered  the  last  word,  but  he  saw  no  evidence  that 
his  finishing  touch  had  been  heeded.    Then,  as  if 


32  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


checked  by  this  incident,  he  added  in  a  graver 
manner : 

"Truly,  I  do  not  think  this  is  always  the  best, 
but  who  wants  to  be  left?  Our  big  cities  really 
only  reflect  the  strenuous,  vibrant  life  of  the  age. 
They  are  the  hearts  of  our  great  country,  where 
the  blood  pumps  and  throbs  at  the  highest  pres- 
sure. It  is  our  country  towns,  redolent  of  culture 
and  philosophy,  where  poets  and  thinkers  of  all 
classes  are  made.  You  will  get  used  to  the  hustle, 
Miss  Heath,  if  you  remain  long  in  Xew  York, 
which,  by  the  way,  do  you  contemplate  doing  or 
are  you  expecting  soon  to  deprive  us  of  the  pleas- 
ure of  meeting  you  again  ?" 

Miss  Heath,  who  had  been  listening  to  this 
rather  trite  and  withal  forceful  explanation  of  Xew 
York's  code  of  hurry,  was  recalled  to  herself  in- 
stantly by  the  query  as  to  her  future  plans. 

"I  am  not  likely  to  leave  the  city  for  a  month 
or  two,  at  least,"  she  replied,  "and  in  the  mean- 
time. I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
often." 

The  young  woman's  expression  of  feeling  was 
evidently  unfeigned  and,  Harry,  perceiving  that 
the  length  of  his  call  had  quite  reached,  if  not 
somewhat  exceeded  the  customary  latitude,  arose 
and  bade  Miss  Heath  adieu,  promising  to  call  as 


Rivals  Weighed  by  Woman.  33 


often  as  possible  to  help  her  "kill  time,"  while  she 
remained  in  New  York. 

After  Mr.  Taylor  had  taken  his  departure,  Miss 
Heath  remembered  that  he  had  made  no  allusion  to 
the  visit  of  his  friend  on  the  preceding  evening 
and  concluded  therefrom  that  her  two  new  ac- 
quaintances did  not  confide  such  matters  to  each 
other,  deciding  in  that  case  to  also  maintain  a  dis- 
creet silence  on  the  subject. 


34  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   MODERN  DUEL. 

Jack  Harding  did  not  fail  to  call  soon  again 
upon  Miss  Heath.  The  young  woman  had  quickly 
discerned  how  easy  it  was  to  exercise  over  him  that 
fascination  of  which  she  was  a  complete  mistress. 

Jack  was  not  able  to  determine  into  what 
channel  the  acquaintance  was  drifting,  nor  did  he 
really  attempt  to  analyze  the  situation  very  closely. 
To  most  of  the  men  whom  Miss  Heath  encountered, 
she  was  a  decided  riddle.  Her  freedom  of  action 
and  manner  sometimes  suggested  the  probability 
of  little  liberties,  but  at  the  very  moment  when 
the  opportunity  seemed  ripening,  a  subtle  intima- 
tion dawned  that  they  might  not  be  agreeably  re- 
ceived and  the  Venus  froze  into  a  Virginia.  This 
tantalizing  uncertainty  discouraged  some  alto- 
gether, while  others  it  led  on  to  the  maddest  kind 
of  infatuation.  As  Miss  Heath's  past  was  a  mys- 
tery which  she  did  not  seem  anxious  to  explain, 
the  interest  in  her  very  charming  personality  was 
naturally  enhanced. 


A  Modern  Duel.  35 


Jack  Harding  was  not  exactly  a  novice  in 
amours,  but  his  experience  had  never  yet  placed 
him  in  contact  with  a  nature  like  that  of  Miss 
Heath,  who,  though  not  exactly  profound,  was 
clever,  cultivated  and  a  mistress  of  the  art  of 
charming. 

While,  with  some  young  women  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, Harding  would  have  led  the  conversation  or 
have  exhibited  some  dash  and  freedom,  he  felt  re- 
stricted and  abashed  in  the  presence  of  this  fin- 
ished coquette.  While  his  ideas  halted  and  his 
tongue  tarried,  Miss  Heath's  persiflage  kept  up  a 
running  fire  of  little  nothings  that  made  her  seem 
an  oracle  of  brightness.  She  talked  of  politics, 
the  latest  books,  New  York  as  she  saw  it — its 
naughtiness  and  frivolity,  its  grandeur  and  its, 
abject  meanness  and  poverty— and  about  a  thou- 
sand things  that  seemed  to  gain  an  added  interest 
as  she  talked. 

So  far  had  this  gone — the  lady's  small  talk  and 
the  young  man's  pleased  presence  and  unfeigned 
attentiveness  to  every  tone,  look,  gesture,  and 
changing  manner — so  far  indeed  had  the  entente 
cordiule  between  the  two  progressed  that  the 
theatre-visit,  as  an  expression  of  the  amative  mood, 
was  reached,  with  an  intimation  on  the  part  of  Miss 
Heath,  that  there  was  a  certain  play  she  was 
anxious  to  see. 


36  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


When  Jack  had  closed  this  episode  in  the  love- 
making  by  arranging  for  the  following  Friday,  a 
visitor  was  announced.  Any  caller,  at  such  a  time, 
would  have  seemed  an  intruder  to  Jack  Harding. 

The  one  announced  at  the  moment  was  Mr.  Clif- 
ford St.  John,  who  had  been  introduced  to  Miss 
Heath  on  the  first  night  of  her  arrival  in  New 
York,  and  who  had  been  very  marked  in  his  at- 
tentions to  her  on  that  occasion.  He  was  the  son  of 
a  New  York  banker,  the  possessor  of  an  ancestral 
tree,  one  of  those  abnormal  productions  of  a  free 
country  that  have  been  noted  with  some  curiosity 
by  students  of  social  development.  St.  John  had 
picked  up  abroad  somewhat  of  the  manner  of  the 
foreign  autocrat,  but  it  was  a  gilt  imitation  and 
fitted  him  much  as  a  hired  ducal  coronet  might  sit 
on  a  cockney  tradesman.  In  spite  of  this,  on  ac- 
count of  his  family  connections  and  wealth,  well- 
bred  women  flattered  him  and  encouraged  his  im- 
ported airs. 

Miss  Heath  introduced  the  men  and  then  found 
herself  faced  by  the  difficult  task  of  entertaining 
two  such  entirely  dissimilar  characters. 

After  the  introduction,  the  young  millionaire 
was  soon  asking  Harding  as  to  his  acquaintances 
in  the  social  swim  and,  receiving  negative  answers 
to  most  of  his  queries,  coldly  dismissed  him  from 
the  conversation  and  turned  to  Miss  Heath.  The 


A  Modern  Duel.  37 


young  Knockabout  man  shortly  after  took  his 
leave. 

St.  John  began  at  once  to  pay  Miss  Heath  the 
most  audacious  compliments  and  to  disclose  the 
vein  of  imbecility  that  was  one  of  the  predominat- 
ing features  in  his  character. 

"Do  you  know,  Miss  Marian,"  commenced  the 
poor,  simple-minded,  little  chappie,  looking  Miss 
Heath  over,  as  if  she  had  been  a  filly  which  he 
was  contemplating  buying  for  his  stables,  "do  you 
know  that  I  have  made  up  my  mind  you  are 
awfully  pretty !" 

"Do  you  know,  sir,"  responded  the  young  wo- 
man, with  a  slight  air  of  mimicry,  "that  you  are 
actually  becoming  very  familiar  on  very  short  ac- 
quaintance ?" 

St.  John  laughed.  He  thought  he  had  scored 
a  point. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right.  I'm  awfully  rapid.  You 
can  get  square  by  calling  me  Cliff  right  away,  if 
you  choose.  All  the  pretty  girls  do  that,  don't  you 
know  I" 

Strange  to  say,  this  exhibition  of  nerve  cleared 
the  atmosphere.  Apologies,  sincerity,  sense  of  hu- 
mor, reparation,  the  highest  expression  of  genuine 
courtesy  between  man  and  woman  are  oftentimes 
powerless — make  bad  instances  worse,  indeed — but 
give  us  effrontery  at  the  right  time,  and  in  a  cer- 


38  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


tain  environment,  and  all  is  well  and  as  right  and 
proper  as  before  the  amazing  incident. 

"That's  a  very  good  idea/'  said  Marian  Heath, 
after  a  moment's  reflection.  "You  are  indeed  a 
dear,  droll  fellow,  Cliff." 

The  subtle  sarcasm  of  the  young  woman's  tone 
was  lost  upon  the  monumental  cub. 

"That's  what  they  all  seem  to  think,  for  the  girls 
laugh  at  everything  I  say,"  said  St.  John  in  a  tone 
so  pleased  and,  withal,  so  apparently  sincere,  that 
the  young  lady  wTondered,  amusedly,  whether  this 
young  blood  could  really  be  in  earnest  about  it. 

"Yes,  Cliff,  I  am  sure  they  do.  But  I  could 
not  laugh  at  you,  you  know,"  she  said,  caressingly, 
and  the  pained  look  of  some  inward  emotion 
aroused  the  young  man  like  an  electric  shock. 

St.  John  began  to  explain  what  an  outrageously 
wicked  fellow  he  had  been  until,  with  a  blase, 
deprecatory  shrug,  he  hoped  that  he  was  near  the 
end  of  it  all,  at  last. 

"You  are  really,  aren't  you,  Cliff?"  exclaimed 
Miss  Heath,  enthusiastically,  as  if  anxious  to  have 
his  salvation  assured  for  her  own  sake. 

Transported  into  a  state  of  ecstacy  by  this  ap- 
parently easy  conquest,  the  unconscious  cad  at  once 
proposed  a  visit  to  the  opera  together.  Friday 
night  was  suggested,  but  Miss  Heath  stated  she 
had  an  engagement  for  that  evening,  and  another 


A  Modern  Duel.  39 


date  was  decided  on,  after  which,  St.  John  ex- 
pressed a  wish  that  he  might  meet  Miss  Heath  at 
an  affair  to  be  given  at  the  house  of  a  mutual  ac- 
quaintance a  few  days  later.  He  then  took  his 
departure  like  a  conquering  hero,  wrapped  in  a 
cloud  of  ecstatic  vanity. 

Friday  night  arrived  and  with  it  Jack  Hard- 
ing. Miss  Heath  was  ready  and  gave  him  a  hearty 
reception.  As  they  were  leaving  the  house,  the 
maid  entered  with  a  box  containing  a  bunch  of 
violets.  To  the  flowers  was  pinned  a  card,  at 
which  Miss  Heath  glanced  and  blushed  slightly. 
Harding  did  not  notice  the  blush,  but  he  recog- 
nized the  fact  that  he  had  made  a  bad  social  blun- 
der in  not  providing  the  flowers  himself.  The  re- 
sultant feeling  was  unpleasant.  But  that  was 
destined  not  to  be  the  only  event  of  the  evening  to 
cloud  his  happiness.  True  lovers  are  reputed  to 
get  their  full  share  of  vicissitudes. 

After  they  were  comfortably  seated  in  their  box 
at  the  theatre,  Jack  ventured  to  look  around  him, 
recognizing  many  faces  and  bowed  to  a  number  of 
acquaintances.  The  play  was  "The  Taming  of  the 
Shrew/'  and  it  riveted  Miss  Heath's  attention  from 
the  start,  this  being  the  first  performance  of  it 
that  she  had  seen. 

When,  at  the  drop  of  the  curtain,  her  eye 
glanced  over  the  boxes,  it  alighted  upon  St.  John. 


40  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


Harding,  seeing  him  there,  knew  that  his  own 
projected  night  of  happiness  was  ended.  Of 
course,  as  on  a  former  occasion,  St.  John  would 
make  the  best  of  his  chance  to  interrupt  his  tete-a- 
tete  with  Miss  Heath. 

There  was  a  mild  glare  in  Jack's  eye  when  St. 
John  entered  the  box,  for  he  had  mentally  credited 
him  with  being  the  sender  of  the  violets.  Miss 
Heath  received  the  banker's  son  very  cordially, 
finally  remarking  with  that  honeyed  cruelty,  pecu- 
liar to  women : 

"Oh,  Clifford — or  Cliff,  I  mean — here  is  a  vacant 
chair." 

Jack  glared,  but  Clifford  ignored  the  compli- 
ment, and  waited  for  no  second  bidding.  He  drew 
the  proffered  chair  up  to  Miss  Heath  and  remaii*ed 
there  throughout  the  performance,  entirely  monop- 
olizing the  young  woman's  attention. 

When  the  play  ^*as  over,  Harding  was  ready  to 
say,  "Won't  you  come  with  us  to  supper,  also?"  but 
Miss  Heath  dismissed  Clifford  with  a  "sorry  to 
say,  we  must  part  here,"  and  the  inflated  insig- 
nificance disappeared.  After  he  had  gone,  how- 
ever, Jack  found  courage  to  express  the  taunt  to 
his  companion,  for  which  thrust  he  received  a 
woman's  answer — a  disdainful  laugh.  The  laugh 
struck  him  as  heartless,  and  gave  him  his  recoil. 
He  wondered  all  the  rest  of  the  evening  where 


A  Modern  Duel.  41 


he  had  heard  such  a  laugh  before.  The  incident 
made  the  subsequent  supper  cheerless  and  paved 
the  way  for  another  awakening. 

The  restaurant,  which  they  entered,  a  fashiona- 
ble one  on  Fifth  avenue,  was  well  filled  with  men 
and  women. 

While  waiting  to  be  served,  J ack  noticed  a  young 
woman  enter  and  seat  herself  at  the  table  near  by. 
She  bowed  to  him  rather  coldly  and  at  once  turned 
to  her  escort,  engrossed  apparently  in  his  conversa- 
tion. Miss  Heath,  whose  vigilant  eyes  never  lost 
a  point,  observed  that  this  seemed  to  chagrin  her 
companion,  who  suddenly  became  absorbed  in  a 
study  of  his  napkin  and  water  glass.  Jack  was 
really  facing  a  difficult  situation. 

The  young  woman,  whose  appearance  on  the 
scene  had  so  sensibly  affected  him,  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  his  father's  old  friend,  Mr.  Van  Duyne,  and 
the  two  had  been  playmates  in  childhood.  When 
Jack  attained  to  manhood,  he  had  still  continued 
his  attentions  to  her,  until  the  time  when  he  had 
met  Marian  Heath,  since  when  he  had  neglected 
the  young  woman  entirely.  Her  coldness  now 
affected  him  so  that  he  commenced,  as  well  as  a 
young  man  of  his  age  can  do,  to  analyze  his  feel- 
ings, instead  of  discussing  the  dishes  placed  before 
him,  with  the  usual  interest.  His  self-absorption 
did  not  affect  Marian  at  all,  for,  between  study  of 


42  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


her  supper  and  the  people  who  surrounded  her, 
she  found  plenty  of  the  very  best  diversion  she 
could  desire. 

"These  people  apparently  do  not  eat  to  live, 
but  rather  live  to  eat,"  she  exclaimed,  after  a 
lengthy  study  of  the  scene.  "By  the  way,  Mr. 
Harding,  you  do  not  seem  to  have  a  very  keen  ap- 
petite this  evening." 

"Sometimes,"  retorted  Jack,  rather  fiercely, 
"people  have  something  more  important  to  think 
of  than  eating,  but  I  presume  that  moment  never 
comes  to  a  woman" — more  fiercely  still — "a  wo- 
man's stomach  is  to  her  what  a  man's  heart  is  to 
him.  A  man  is  a  fool  to  care  a  rap,  either.  He  is 
a  fool  to  lose  his  heart,  especially  to  a  heartless 
flirt.  You  must  excuse  me,  I  cannot  help  saying 
what  I  feel  so  strongly." 

"How  absurd  you  are,"  replied  Marian,  in  the 
tone  of  a  senior  sister.  "There  are  oceans  of  other 
girls  around  you  if  you  are  not  satisfied  with  one. 
Why  not  give  your  flirting  friend  a  Eoland  for 
her  Oliver?" 

"A  man  does  not  play  fast  and  loose  with  a 
woman's  feelings,  if  she  does  with  his.  He  isn't 
built  that  way.  Coquetry  is  not  an  instinct  with 
him.    He  loves  and  loses — or  wins." 

"How  solemn,"  replied  Marian,  in  a  half  ban- 


A  Modern  Duel.  43 


tering  tone.  "Is  this  the  first  serious  case  of 
heart-sickness  you  have  had,  Jack?" 

"Jack!  Had  she  called  him  Jack?"  The 
young  man's  heart  throbbed  violently.  He  threw 
her  a  look  of  gratitude  and  sighed  audibly.  He 
had  not  noticed  the  mischievous  feeling  that 
prompted  Marian  to  address  him  by  his  first  name, 
nor  the  fact  that  the  words  were  spoken  in  a  tone 
loud  enough  to  be  heard  at  the  next  table;  nor 
had  he  noticed  the  sharp  significant  glances  ex- 
changed between  the  two  women. 

"Let  us  talk  commonplace  now,"  she  continued, 
satisfied  with  her  strategy.  "You  haven't  told 
me  yet,  which  University  you  claim  as  your  Alma 
Mater.    Talk  to  me  about  your  college  days." 

Marian  was  interested  in  his  personality  at  last. 
A  touch  of  a  new  self-confidence  streaked  the 
young  man's  face  as  he  answered: 

"Chicago  University,  of  course.  Didn't  you  see 
that  I  was  from  Chicago?  I  was  born  there  and 
did  not  come  East  until  about  six  years  ago. 
Harry  Taylor,  my  particular  friend,  whom  you 
met  on  the  first  night  that  we  made  your  ac- 
quaintance, also  hails  from  there.  We  are  old 
college  chums." 

Marian  smiled  slightly  at  the  mention  of  Tay- 
lor's name.  The  smile  was  enigmatical  to  Jack, 
so  he  did  not  question  it. 


44  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


"You  were  fond  of  athletics,  I  suppose?"  pur- 
sued Marian. 

"I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  never  shone  in  the 
field  of  sport.  I  used  to  read  a  good  deal  rather 
than  play.  You  see,  I  was  compelled  to  work  for 
a  living.  It  was  different  with  Harry.  He  had 
nothing  to  worry  about  and  was  a  prominent  mem- 
ber of  the  baseball  and  football  teams,  in  which 
he  had  any  number  of  records." 

This  intelligence  seemed  to  please  Miss  Heath, 
as  Harding  observed  with  some  chagrin,  and  the 
incident  practically  closed  the  tete-a-tete,  for  they 
soon  afterwards  drove  home.  During  the  drive, 
Jacked  melted  and,  taking  the  hand  of  Miss  Heath 
in  his  own,  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  Why  he  did 
so,  he  did  not  know.  Her  glance  seemed  to  burn 
into  his  very  soul,  and  he  could  have  thrown  him- 
self at  her  feet  at  the  moment. 

"Yes,  you  may  kiss  me  once  and  forget  it,"  she 
said,  as  the  cab  rolled  on. 

She  had  alluded  to  the  kiss  he  had  taken,  but 
Jack  misunderstood  her  and  soon  had  thrown 
his  arms  around  her.  Truth  to  tell,  he  had  taken 
a  great  deal  of  wine  partly  to  cover  his  mortifica- 
tion, and  to  eke  out  the  supper  he  did  not  eat. 

Miss  Heath  tried  to  resist  his  embrace,  but  he 
was  too  powerful  for  her.  Once  in  his  arms,  her 
fair  face  was  showered  with  kisses. 


A  Modern  Duel.  45 


"Oh,  you  must  not,"  she  protested.  But  the 
warning  was  unheeded. 

When  the  cab  rolled  up  to  the  Williams'  resi- 
dence, Jack  seemed  to  regain  his  senses.  He 
hastily  assisted  Miss  Heath  to  smooth  out  her 
opera  cloak  and  adjust  her  hat,  apologizing  whilst 
assisting  her  to  alight.  His  brain  was  yet  a  whirl, 
when  he  left  her  with  a  brief  good-night  at  the 
door. 

"Remember,"  she  said,  with  a  little  gasp,  before 

he  went,  "it  is  silence,  or  "  her  companion 

heard  no  more. 

Jack  reached  his  room  in  a  fever.  To  his  in- 
finite relief,  Harry  Taylor  had  not  yet  arrived. 
Taylor,  the  once  boon  companion,  now  the  hated 
rival,  the  traitor!  Strange  thoughts  were  seeth- 
ing in  his  brain  as  he  threw  himself  on  to  the 
lounge.  He  had  passed  the  Eubicon  most  unex- 
pectedly. But,  whither  was  he  drifting?  Was  he 
only  the  tool,  the  toy  of  a  coquette,  who  had  en- 
snared him  and  yet  loved  another? 

These  thoughts  wTere  suddenly  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  the  hated  rival,  Harry  himself, 
much  in  the  manner  in  which  clowns  make  their 
opening  entrance  on  the  stage  in  pantomime  or 
burlesque.  Harry's  condition  was  unmistakable,, 
but  it  did  not  prevent  Harding  from  uttering  the 
stereotyped  exclamation : 


46  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


"Why,  what  on  earth  has  happened  to  you,  old 
man?" 

"<31ub  racket — too  many  highballs!  Don't 
bother  me.  Fm  not  drunk — it's  you — you're 
standing  upside  down — must  feel  awfully  uncom- 
fortable. Why  don't  you  reverse  yourself?"  was 
Harry's  rejoinder. 

Jack  Harding  awoke  in  the  morning  to  find  his 
friend  Harry  still  fast  asleep  and,  as  they  gen- 
erally breakfasted  together,  he  proceeded  to  awaken 
him. 

When  Harry  was  finally  aroused,  he  seemed  to 
be  laboring  under  some  heavy  anaesthetic.  He 
made  an  attempt  to  leave  the  bed,  only  to  tum- 
ble back  again. 

"That  attack  you  had  last  night  has  not  quite 
worn  off  yet,"  remarked  Jack,  as  he  fixed  his  col- 
lar on  and  cast  a  despairing  glance  at  his  room- 
mate. 

"Don't  insult  me  or  you'll  regret  it,"  replied 
Harry  testily. 

"Sit  up  and  look  around,  old  man,"  was  the 
rejoinder.  "Look  where  you  put  your  clothes,  feel 
your  head,  open  your  eyes  and  don't  be  soft  as  well 
as  full.  Take  this  towel  and  wrap  your  head  up 
for  awhile,"  said  Jack,  handing  his  friend  the  arti- 
cle, well  soused  in  cold  water,  "and  as  you  do  not 
need  to  work  for  an  income,  I'll  breakfast  alone." 


A  Modern  Duel.  47 


"Go  to  Hades,  if  you  want  to,  but  don't  stand 
there  looking  as  wise  as  a  parrot  and  preaching 
at  me,  or  FU  take  some  of  the  starch  out  of  you, 
drunk  or  not  drunk,"  said  Taylor,  with  a  sullen 
petulance. 

This  remark  stung  Jack  Harding,  who  generally 
was  an  extremely  amiable  being,  especially  to  his 
fides  Achates. 

The  unexpressed  jealousy  between  the  two  men 
over  Marian  Heath  was  simmering  in  the  minds 
of  both,  threatening  to  upset  what  had  promised 
to  be  a  lifetime  friendship.  The  evident  delight 
which  the  young  woman  had  shown,  on  learning  of 
Harry's  skill  as  an  athlete,  determined  Jack  to 
throw  down  the  gauntlet  which  his  friend's  brutal 
remark  had  evoked.  With  defiant  glance  he  faced 
the  disgruntled  Taylor. 

"I  hope  you  didn't  call  in  that  condition  upon 
Miss  Heath  last  evening." 

The  fury  of  Harry  Taylor  was  aroused  in  an 
instant.  The  towel  was  tossed  aside  and  he  was 
on  his  feet  in  an  instant,  facing  Harding. 

"Dare  to  mention  that  lady's  name  in  connec- 
tion with  a  scene  like  this,"  hissed  Taylor,  shak- 
ing his  finger  menacingly  in  Jack's  face. 

"That's  where  I  made  the  only  mistake,  I  guess," 
replied  Jack,  coolly,  "but  take  your  paw  off  my 
nose  or  I'll  thrash  you,  athlete  or  no  athlete.  I'm 


48  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


not  going  to  be  bulldozed  if  I  am  run  out  by  a 
sneaking  friend." 

"Take  that,  then/'  was  Taylor's  response,  catch- 
ing J ack  a  neat  blow  on  the  neck  and  sending  him 
sprawling  on  all  fours. 

"Biff !"  J  ack  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant.  He 
was  not  a  fighter,  but  he  had  pluck  and  a  little 
training.  "Look  out  now/'  he  said,  thoroughly 
enraged,  "you've  drawn  first  blood  and  I'm  going 
to  lick  you." 

"Biff!"  again.  Taylor  left  his  left  guard  un- 
covered while  defending  a  feint  on  his  right  and 
received  a  terrible  blow,  which  sent  him  down 
like  a  log  onto  the  floor. 

He  did  not  attempt  to  rise,  so  Jack  sprang  for- 
ward, drew  him  up  on  to  the  bed  and,  as  he  showed 
signs  of  fainting,  sprinkled  some  cold  water  on  his 
face. 

Seeing  that  he  had  really  hurt  his  friend,  Jack 
was  sorry  at  once,  and  would  rather  have  sub- 
mitted to  any  amount  of  pummeling  than  return 
another  blow,  especially  as  he  knew  that  it  was 
his  own  words  which  had  first  provoked  the 
wrangle. 

"Here,  sit  up,  old  man,"  he  said  in  his  rather 
gruff,  but  kindly  way.  "HI  bathe  your  head  a  bit. 
I'm  awfully  sorry  that  I  got  fooling,  and  shall 
never  forgive  myself  if  you  think  hardly  of  it. 


A  Modern  Duel.  49 


What's  a  woman's  smile  to  a  man's  friendship, 
anyway.  Get  up  and  kick  me  from  here  to  Hali- 
fax, if  you  will.  I  wish  I  could  kick  myself  all 
over.  I  was  a  coward  to  hit  a  man  in  your  con- 
dition." 

"That's  all  right,"  exclaimed  Harry,  putting  out 
his  hand,  with  a  rather  sickly  smile,  "you  winded 
me  good  enough  at  the  first  tap.  I  guess  HI  have 
to  go  into  training  again.  This  dissipated  life  is 
playing  the  deuce  with  me." 

With  the  aid  of  a  wet  towel  and  a  little  pull 
out  of  a  flask  which  the  friends  kept  in  the  room 
in  case  of  emergency,  Jack  soon  had  his  friend  in 
shape  for  breakfast  and,  not  being  young  men  of 
the  sorehead  variety,  whatever  their  shortcomings 
might  be,  they  went  down  to  the  table  together  the 
best  of  friends. 

After  J ack  had  gone  "downtown,"  although  feel- 
ing anything  but  "a  winner,"  Harry  also  went  to 
his  office.  He  was  rather  dizzy  all  that  morning 
and,  as  noon  arrived,  decided  to  leave  earlier  than 
usual  for  a  walk,  realizing  that  the  fresh  air  would 
brace  him  up  considerably. 

In  accordance  with  this  resolution,  he  started 
about  one  o'clock  for  a  walk  up  Broadway.  When 
nearing  Twenty-third  street,  to  his  pleasurable 
astonishment,  he  saw  Marian  Heath  approaching. 

In  the  presence  of  such  inspiration,  Harry  Tay- 


50  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


lor  soon  forgot  his  upset,  and,  accompanying  Miss 
Heath  for  a  little  distance  on  the  way  to  the 
shopping  district,  soon  recovered  his  natural 
spirits. 

"By  the  way/5  he  said,  before  leaving  her,  "did 
you  ever  visit  a  roof  garden,  Miss  Heath,  or  would 
such  a  place  be  too  plebeian  for  your  tastes  ?" 

"Nothing  would  please  me  better,  because  it 
would  be  such  a  novelty,"  said  she,  and  an  appoint- 
ment was  made  for  the  following  evening. 


A  Roof  Garden  Conversation  51 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  ROOF  GARDEN  CONVERSATION. 

Roof  gardens  are  an  ancient  institution.  The 
hanging  gardens  of  Babylon  remind  us  of  that. 
In  them — one  of  the  seven  wonders  of  the  world — 
doubtless  were  enacted  scenes  differing  little  from 
those  we  see  on  our  theatre  roofs  to-day.  There 
were  the  magicians,  cleverer  than  our  own  proba- 
bly; the  acrobats,  the  dancers,  the  singers,  the 
same  rampant  gaiety  of  early  hot-house  civiliza- 
tion, all  there,  in  that  past  fin-de-siecle  age ! 

In  Harry's  company,  Miss  Heath,  by  a  strange 
revulsion,  began  to  find  a  vague  delight.  The 
garden  visited  by  them  was  the  roof  of  a  music 
hall  situated  on  the  verge  of  the  Tenderloin,  its 
roof  commanding  an  excellent  view  of  that  piquant 
district. 

"From  here/'  said  Harry,  when  they  had  seated 
themselves  comfortably  at  a  spot  commanding  a 
good  view  of  the  stage  and  also  of  the  lights  and 


52  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


shadows  in  the  town  below,  "we  can  moralize  on 
the  vanity  of  the  two  stages  within  our  scope  of 
vision — one  more  or  less  mirrors  the  other,  I  pre- 
sume." 

At  the  time  this  remark  was  passed,  a  famous 
trapeze  performer  was  doing  a  disrobing  act  from 
her  perilous  position  above,  which  was  exceedingly 
suggestive  and  which  feature  alone  was  drawing 
large  audiences  to  the  place. 

Miss  Heath  did  not  blush  or  turn  away  from 
the  stage,  as  the  woman  gradually  undressed  until 
she  was  apparently  nude. 

"I  wonder  how  many  men  are  fascinated  nightly 
by  that  simple  performance,"  the  young  woman  re- 
marked, coolly.  "I  suppose  she  receives  a  dozen 
offers  of  marriage  a  night.  Men  are  very  easily 
led;  that  is  why  marriage  is  so  great  a  failure. 
Civilized  people  are  growing  more  aud  more,  each 
year,  to  regard  it  as  a  social  convenience  than  as 
a  sacred  bond.  I  think  they  are  very  right.  The 
Pagan  philosophy  is  growing  fast  among  us.  We 
shall  never  revert  to  the  real  coarseness  of  the 
ancient  Greek  and  Egyptian,  but  we  shall  graft  a 
domestic  philosophy  upon  it  very  little  at  variance 
with  its  principles.  Man  was  made  for  woman 
and  woman  for  man,  but  neither  to  be  a  slave. 
When  love  flits  away,  the  marriage  bond  is  broken 
and  the  communion  between  the  two  is  mere  adul- 


A  Roof  Garden  Conversation.  53 


tery.  A  brilliant,  passionate  woman  like  Bern- 
hardt coiild  not  stand  the  absurdity  of  the  con- 
venances. Even  a  Patti  only  tolerated  a  husband 
as  long  as  she  would.  Women  must  be  worshipped 
with  all  the  force  of  a  man's  nature,  if  they  are 
to  be  held.  They  have  no  use  for  lukewarm  affec- 
tion. They  will  not  tolerate  infidelity,  even  in 
thought,  and  though  they  may  practice  it  them- 
selves, for  that  is  a  woman's  privilege,  being  the 
weaker  and  more  emotional  sex,  because  they  can 
sin  and  forget,  being,  as  the  Englishman  says, 
rakes  at  heart/' 

Harry  Taylor  looked  appalled.  Was  it  the  wine 
his  companion  was  sipping  that  brought  out  all 
these  odd  thoughts  or  was  she  merely  leading  him 
on  to  see  what  he  would  answer.  But  he  gave  no 
sign  of  replying.    His  companion  continued: 

"Men  of  the  present  day  are  so  tame,  flat,  inane. 
They  neither  control  a  woman  nor  let  themselves 
be  held  in  her  leash.  .  Better  the  old  feudal  times, 
when  woman  had  to  bow  to  an  apparent  rule  and 
trust  to  her  own  sagacity  for  having  her  own  way. 
To-day,  men  are  weak,  vacillating.  They  marry 
one  woman  and  spend  their  money  on  another.  I 
am  questioning  whether,  after  all,  marriage  is  not 
simply  a  farce." 

"Your  ideas  are  certainly  original,  Miss  Heath," 
interposed  Harry  Taylor,  at  last,  venturing  to  in- 


54  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


terject  a  word,  "but  I  do  not  see  that  you  make  any 
attempt  to  live  up  to  them,  therefore  why  pro- 
mulgate such  radical  theories." 

"Only  one  philosopher  in  a  million  tries  at  all 
to  live  up  to  his  or  her  theories  and  then  fails/' 
replied  Miss  Heath.  "We  feel  these  things  in  a 
vague  way.  Some  day  they  will  become  realities 
and  then  we  shall  see  many  changes.  I  suppose 
that  you  are  mortally  offended  because  I  have 
spoken  so  plainly,  but  remember,  women  are  think- 
ing to-day  side  by  side  with  men.  We  are  no 
longer  dragging  at  their  heels." 

Miss  Heath  seemed  to  be  transformed  with 
something  entirely  foreign  to  herself,  during  this 
discourse  and,  although  her  words  certainly  were 
not  approved  by  Harry  Taylor,  yet,  as  he  looked 
at  her  tense  expression  and  viewed  the  flashing 
of  her  magnificent  eyes,  he  felt  more  than  ever 
enthralled  by  her  masterful  personality. 

"Women  have  changed  greatly,  it  is  true,  but 
thank  heaven,  they  are  still  wonderfully  charm- 
ing," he  replied  in  a  calm  manner,  struggling  to 
suppress  the  story  of  love  which  was  fighting  hard 
to  pass  his  lips. 

Marian  saw  her  moment  of  triumph,  saw  that 
she  had  mastered  the  man  who  was  more  to  her, 
perhaps,  than  any  one  yet  had  been  and,  then, 
turning  her  lorgnette  on  the  stage,  she  seemed  to 


A  Roof  Garden  Conversation.  55 


forget  everything  else  in  the  mimic  scenes  being 
enacted  there. 

"I  am  only  sorry  that  I  am  not  a  free-thinker," 
Taylor  said  to  her  that  night  at  a  farewell  taking. 

"Forget  that,"  she  answered  with  a  new  soft- 
ness, "sometimes  a  woman  talks  at  random." 

His  eyes  followed  the  graceful  silhouette  as  it 
disappeared  in  the  house. 

"A  Josephine  or  a  Montespan?"  he  muttered. 
Then  he  crushed  in  his  hand  one  of  the  roses  she 
had  worn  and  thrust  it  into  his  bosom. 


56  A  Serpent's  Feast 


CHAPTER  711. 

Marian's  dark  hour. 

How  many  women  in  one  little  day  come  to  that 
crisis  in  their  lives  at  which  Marian  Heath  had 
arrived ! 

To  man  there  seems  a  constant  and  easy  means 
of  escape  from  the  penalties  which  should  be  felt 
equally  by  one  sex  as  by  the  other ;  but  to  woman 
there  is  none. 

Like  many  another  American  woman,  Marian 
had  imagined  her  sex  to  be  a  palladium  which  se- 
cured her  safety  upon  any  and  all  occasions.  She 
had  thought  that  it  was  easy  to  toy  with  forbidden 
fruit  and  yet  leave  it  untasted — that  she  might  al- 
low the  viper  to  feed  from  her  hand  without  any 
risk  of  it  attempting  to  inoculate  her  with  its  virus. 

Experience  alone  teaches  us  the  fallacy  of  such 
assumptions. 

Since  the  night  when  Jack  Harding  had 
offered  her  such  a  grievous  insult,  Marian  had 
been  a  changed  being.  Whatever  experiences  she 
might  have  gone  through  in  life  before  the  episode 


Marian's  Dark  Hour.  57 


in  the  cab,  she  had  never  known  the  blight  of  a 
real  indignity. 

The  occurrence  had  shocked  her  to  such  an  ex- 
tent, that  she  had  grown  morbid  over  it;  her 
natural  vivacity  had  deserted  her  and  she  was  fast 
drifting  into  a  perilous  position;  had  drifted  into 
it,  in  fact,  and  was  now  already  standing  upon 
the  brink  of  the  great  precipice. 

The  thoughts  to  which  she  had  given  expression 
to  Harry  Taylor  on  the  roof  garden  would  never 
have  been  uttered  had  she  not  been  in  this  ab- 
normal condition  of  mind. 

How  bitter  the  situation  was  that  she  now 
faced,  none  but  an  intellectual  woman  could  have 
understood.  She  had  learned  to  love  the  man 
whose  most  intimate  friend  had  been  her  Nemesis, 
and,  who  even  now,  perhaps,  was  making  light 
of  her  name  in  some  heartless  jest. 

And  this  was  to  be  the  price  a  woman  must 
pay  for  having  sought  a  little,  harmless  amuse- 
ment, a  few  hours'  distraction,  in  which  to  drive 
away  the  clouds  of  morbidity  which  had  darkened 
a  young  and  promising  life ! 

How  reckless  a  woman  becomes  when  she  feels 
that  her  first  misstep  has  been  taken,  or,  at  least, 
when  she  appreciates  that  she  has  placed  herself 
in  that  position  of  doubt  which  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world  means  one  and  the  same  thing? 


58  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


It  was  the  evening  following  her  visit  to  the 
roof  garden,  and  Marion  was  at  home  alone.  The 
Williams  family  had  gone  to  the  theatre  and  she 
had  refused  to  acccompany  them,  preferring  to 
stay  at  home  and  nurse  her  own  unpleasant 
thoughts,  under  the  plea  of  having  a  headache. 

The  mistake  was  a  fatal  one.  Had  she  gone 
to  the  play  her  downcast  spirits  might  have  been 
cheered  up  and  the  hour  of  bitterness  have  passed 
away. 

As  the  minutes  glided  by,  the  spell  of  despair 
fastened  more  deeply  upon  her.  The  painted 
demon  that  her  imagination  conjured  up  grew 
momentarily  more  horrible. 

Oh,  for  a  friend  to  counsel  the  young  woman 
in  that  fearful  crisis — a  mother's  bosom  for  her 
to  rest  that  shapely  head  upon  while  sobs  might 
lighten  the  tension  of  an  overburdened  heart ! 

Marian  had  sought  her  own  room  to  brood  over 
her  troubles  and  as  she  sat  there  crushed  and  hope- 
less, the  voice  of  the  tempter  came  to  her.  It  was 
his  opportunity.  He  saw  and  utilized  it.  The 
look  of  despondency  gradually  wore  away  from 
her  countenance  and  an  artificial  brightness  took 
its  place. 

Desperation  leads  to  one  of  two  extremes — sui- 
cide or  abandon.  The  serpent  had  conquered. 
He  had  conjured  up  to  her  an  alluring  vision. 


Marian's  Dark  Hour.  59 


This  is  what  he  had  said:  "You  are  beautiful. 
Men  will  risk  everything  for  a  smile  from  a  woman 
like  you.  The  world  is  yours.  Go  out  and  con- 
quer it.  You  have  only  to  command  and  every- 
thing you  want  will  be  given  you." 

Yes;  she  knew  that  she  could  magnetize  men, 
for  once  some  one  had  called  her  a  magnet.  Xow 
let  the  men  beware.  She  would  toy  no  longer  with 
small  pawns.  When  one  gambles  he  may  as  well 
play  the  game  to  its  limit.  Such  were  her 
thoughts.  She  would  no  longer  be  the  shuttlecock 
of  fate;  she  would  be  the  battledore;  let  despair 
be  the  portion  of  some  one  else. 

Once  her  mood  had  veered  it  took  Marian  but  a 
few  minutes  in  which  to  change  her  evening  dress 
for  a  street  toilet.  Her  trim  figure  was  soon  en- 
veloped in  a  neat  tailor-made  gown. 

Marian  had  determined  to  visit  the  roof  garden 
alone,  to  taste  its  atmosphere  of  careless  abandon, 
to  drive  remorse  behind  her  with  the  aid  of  a  few 
glasses  of  wine.  What  else?  Cut  bono!  When 
none  cares  for  us,  why  should  we  care  for  our- 
selves ? 

So  Marian  stole  quietly  from  the  house  with- 
out even  notifying  the  servants,  and  turned  her 
footsteps  in  the  direction  of — the  Tenderloin. 

Once  out  in  the  air  she  felt  exhilarated  and  re- 
lieved from  her  despondency,  for  she  had  de- 


60  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


termined,  as  had  many  a  woman  before  her,  that 
if  one  had  passed  the  Kubicon  one  might  as  well 
drift.  If  hope  were  gone  then  carelessness  might 
take  its  place — if  the  lights  of  Eden  were  lost, 
there  yet  were  the  lights  of  the  Plutonian  plains 
to  enjoy. 

Her  mind,  in  fact,  was  in  a  state  of  hysterical 
convulsion,  and  she  was  too  absorbed  in  herself  to 
notice  that  as  she  passed  along  Broadway  she  was 
the  object  of  many  covert  glances. 

Finally  Mi^s  Heath  arrived  at  what  she  thought 
was  the  entrance  through  which  Harry  Taylor  and 
herself  had  passed  to  go  to  the  roof  garden. 

A  long  line  was  formed  in  the  box  office,  which 
she  joined,  finally  reaching  the  ticket  window  in 
her  turn  and  securing  the  certificate  of  admission. 
It  seemed  strange,  too,  buying  her  own  ticket  and 
entering  a  theatre  alone.  As  she  ascended  in  the 
elevator  it  seemed  to  Marian  that  it  was  not  the 
same  place  she  had  visited  the  night  before  with 
Harry  Taylor,  and  as  she  stepped  onto  the  roof,  she 
soon  discovered  her  mistake.  Instead  of  the  gay 
scene  which  had  greeted  her  vision  the  night  before, 
she  found  herself  with  an  audience  of  a  totally  dif- 
ferent type. 

It  was  too  late,  however,  to  turn  back.  An 
usher  had  taken  her  ticket  and  Marian  perforce 
followed  him  to  a  seat,    As  soon  as  she  had  suf- 


Marian's  Dark  Hour.  61 


ficiently  recovered  from  her  surprise,  she  picked  up 
a  leaflet  from  a  vacant  seat,  from  which  she  learned 
that  instead  of  having  paid  for  admission  to  a 
vaudeville  performance,  the  roof  was  devoted  that 
evening  to  a  lecture  by  one  of  the  leading  speakers 
connected  with  the  Tenderloin  Eescue  Mission,  to 
which  habitues  of  the  neighborhood  had  been  espe- 
cially invited. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Marian  was  undecided  as 
to  what  she  should  do ;  whether  to  seek  the  diver- 
sion which  she  had  started  in  search  of,  or  remain 
for  awhile  and  listen  to  the  discourse. 

Before  she  had  settled  the  point  the  lecturer  ap- 
peared on  the  platform.  He  was  a  man  of  im- 
pressive appearance,  and  strong,  though  rough 
physiognomy.  He  abruptly  introduced  himself  by 
stating  that  he  had  been  a  lay  worker  connected 
with  the  Eescue  Mission  for  several  years  and  in- 
tended to  tell  the  round,  unvarnished  truth  about 
what  he  had  seen,  however  much  it  might  shock 
delicate  ears. 

He  had  scarcely  spoken  a  dozen  words  before 
Marian  decided  to  stay  and  hear  his  lecture.  It 
would  doubtless  be  a  novel  experience  and  might 
yield  some  hints  that  would  be  useful  later  on. 
Like  most  people,  Marian  knew  little  of  what  Ten- 
derloin life  really  meant.  She  had  not  yet  learned 
to  differentiate  between  the  Butterfly  Carnival 


62  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


and  the  Serpent's  Feast.  So  she  listened  as  did 
the  rest  of  the  audience  almost  spellbound  by  the 
speaker's  eloquent  but  awful  story. 

"One  hears  much  in  snatches/'  he  commenced  in 
a  sonorous  voice,  in  which  pathos  was  the  ruling 
note,  "about  that  marvelous,  iniquitous  and  mys- 
terious Tenderloin ;  but  how  few  have  traversed  its 
evil  mazes  into  their  most  labyrinthine  depths? 
Let  us  take  a  glance,  in  which  imagination  plays 
but  little  part,  from  the  roof  of  this  building  to- 
night, looking  east,  west,  and  north  and  south. 
Let  us  look  clearly  and  fearlessly  at  the  hideous 
pictures  spread  before  us,  for  there  are  many 
lessons  to  be  learned  even  from  the  pages  of  the 
Book  of  Shame. 

"Yonder,  across  in  West  Twenty-ninth  street, 
the  bedizened  courtesan  sits  at  the  bagnio  window, 
listening  for  the  step  of  the  stranger — which  can 
be  heard  half  a  block  away — to  learn  if  it  be  that 
of  male  or  female,  a  fact  her  trained  ear  soon  de- 
tects. If  it  is  the  male,  she  prepares  to  throw 
out  her  most  alluring  glance,  her  most  seductive 
smile.  Does  he  stay,  or  does  he  pass  on?  What 
matter?  Thousands  more  of  her  class  await  him 
— lingering  for  a  moment  on  the  street  corners 
or  pretending  to  examine  the  contents  of  store 
windows — anywhere  and  everywhere  here,  through 
street  after  street,  for  mile  upon  mile. 


Marian's  Dark  Hour.  63 


"What  is  that  sound  we  hear  from  over  in 
Thirty-first  street?  A  sob?  Ah,  yes,  for  sobs 
and  sneers  mingle  oddly  here.  It  comes  from  a 
daintily  dressed  girl,  standing  hesitatingly  at  the 
door  of  a  brownstone-fronted  house,  fumbling 
with  her  key.  Her  face  has  a  look  of  alarm.  She 
sobs  and  descends  the  steps.  A  well-dressed  man 
comes  along  and  enquires  what  the  trouble  is. 
Oh,  how  demurely  that  little  harpy  tells  her  tale. 
She  has  just  arrived  in  the  city  and  has  lost  the 
address  of  her  newly-acquired  boarding-house. 
'Where  can  she  go  for  the  night?' 

"The  man  looks  up  and  down  the  neatly-clad 
figure  and  quickly  decides  that  such  an  oppor- 
tunity should  not  be  lost.  If  she  does  not  become 
his  plaything  for  a  night,  she  will  fall  into  the 
hands  of  some  other  lucky  fellow.  He  tells  her 
that  he  will  take  her  to  a  respectable  hotel,  where 
she  can  stay  until  the  morning,  when  search  can 
be  made  for  the  boarding-house.  Poor  child,  she 
hesitates  awhile  and  then  throws  her  hand  trust- 
ingly into  his,  as  she  might  do  into  that  of  a 
father.  We  will  pass  over  the  rest — the  awaken- 
ing in  the  morning,  the  missing  ingenue  and  the 
departed  pocketbook,  the  disillusionment  of  one 
more  'Good  Samaritan  V 

"Let  the  kaleidoscope  revolve  westward  over 
the  riverside,  where  the  monotonous  lapping  of  the 


64  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


slimy  waters  at  the  piers  can  be  heard,  as  if  in- 
viting victims.  The  long  rows  of  railroad  sheds 
and  the  freight  wharves,  the  groups  of  grimy- 
looking  freight-cars  and  the  dingy  malthouses. 
From  the  platform  in  front  of  these — from  be- 
hind a  load  of  bales,  emerges  a  lurking  figure,  a 
man,  one  of  the  worst  features  of  Tenderloin  life. 
This  creature  walks  across  to  Tenth  avenue  and, 
after  waiting  for  awhile,  espies  a  victim  approach- 
ing— a  man,  who  appears  to  be  sober,  and  scarcely 
a  denizen  of  this  vicinity.  The  creature  from  the 
malthouse  accosts  him,  asking  for  the  price  of  a 
drink.  The  stranger  stops,  hesitates,  and  is  lost. 
The  fellow  pockets  the  coin  and  starts  a  conversa- 
tion. He  is  grateful  for  the  drink  and,  in  return, 
will  put  the  stranger  on  to  a  special  'graft"  that 
he  has — a  respectable  (  ?)  married  woman,  the  wife 
of  a  conductor  (engineer,  truckman,  yardmaster, 
or  some  mechanic)  who,  occasionally,  is  absent 
from  home  and  who  is  away  for  this  night.  The 
bait  tempts.  The  idea  of  twice  forbidden  fruit 
raises  an  alluring  vision  and  the  two  start  for  the 
place  where  the  woman  is  supposed  to  be — chatting 
gaily  as  they  go  along.  They  enter  a  dark  hall- 
way, leading  to  the  respectable  woman's  rooms. 
Here,  two  or  three  brawny  toughs  appear  on  the 
scene  and  it  is  well  if  the  stranger  has  a  revolver 
with  him,  or  else  it  is  robbery,  with  perhaps  mur- 


Marian's  Dark  Hour.  65 


der  to  crown  it,  for  few  policemen  hear  the  cries 
of  the  victim  long  enough  to  remain  within  ear- 
shot. 

"In  this  Gehenna  of  the  West  Side,  haunted  by 
such  beasts  of  prey,  of  how  many  does  the  life 
tragedy  wind  up?  Here,  the  well-dressed  man 
meets  his  doom  too  often,  the  ex-ballet  favorite 
and  the  ex-soubrette  queen  whose  time  has  arrived 
to  go.  Here  is  the  unutterable  pathos  of  the  so- 
cial derelict,  whose  childhood  was  of  the  parochial 
school,  or  the  leading  class  of  the  high  school  of 
some  provincial  town,  or  possibly  of  Xew  York 
City  itself.  Think  of  it !  The  life  of  a  woman 
who  had  once  been  a  fair  and  pure  girl-child,  now 
the  accursed  of  all  outcasts,  winding  up  in  an 
abandoned  freight-car  in  West  Thirtieth  street,  or 
even  on  a  mud  scow,  a  stone's  throw  out  in  the 
river — dissolute  debauchee  !  Think  of  it — the 
misery  of  it,  the  pity  of  it  all ! 

"Speak  to  that  policeman,  guardian  of  the  law, 
with  shield  and  helmet,  idly  twirling  his  club  at 
the  corner,  a  block  or  two  above.  In  a  way,  he  is 
not  so  bad  as  some  of  his  class.  He  has  saved  a 
human  life  in  a  murderous  brawl  in  Hell's 
Kitchen,  half  a  mile  to  the  south.  He  is  married 
and  has  children,  but  has  the  vanity  of  a  Lothario. 
He  knows  that  his  superiors  indulge  in  such  traits. 
His  present  mistress  is  soon  to  become  a  mother. 


66  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


She  was  the  daughter  of  a  respectable  tradesman 
in  the  ward  and  his  peccadillo  is  known  to  most 
people  here,  but,  he  has  determined  to  'stand  by 
the  girl/  and,  so,  all  is  right. 

"Two  blocks  away  is  another  type  of  the  official 
hero.  A  man  has  just  come  out  of  a  house  whore 
he  has  been  robbed.  He  is  telling  the  'cop'  his 
trouble,  but  he  has  fallen  into  evil  hands.  The 
woman  who  robbed  him  pays  tribute  to  the  police- 
man, consequently  the  victim  is  ordered  sharply 
away,  under  pain  of  arrest. 

"Let  us  turn  the  flashlight  across  town.  An- 
other specimen  of  noble  manhood — a  twenty-five 
cent  race-track  sport,  steps  out  of  a  cigar  store 
and  accosts  a  woman,  who  is  passing.  She  is  a 
respectable  mother  going  home  from  her  day's 
work.  The  man  tugs  at  her  shawl,  but  she  takes 
no  notice  of  him,  finally  escaping  his  attentions 
and  reaching  her  home  and  children — his  chil- 
dren. Yes !  This  beast  is  so  debased  that  he 
wants  his  own  wife  to  take  the  downward  step  so 
that  he  may  get  more  money  from  her  than  her 
honest  work  brings  in !  Even  then  he  has  a  man 
waiting  to  take  her  to  a  den  of  infamy.  How 
many  such  creatures,  known  as  sports,  bookmakers 
and  men-about-town,  are  there  not,  who  live  lives 
of  ease  in  the  Tenderloin  on  the  wages  of  their 
wives'  shame?    Small  wonder  the  woman  called 


Marian's  Dark  Hour.  67 


no  one's  attention  to  the  man's  conduct,  but,  swal- 
lowing a  sob,  passed  quietly  onward. 

"Let  us  cross  town.  Who  are  these  two  men 
stepping  so  lightly  from  the  Grand  Central  Depot  ? 
One  is  gray-haired  and  smooth  shaven;  while 
the  other,  a  man  of  thirty,  is  of  stockier  build. 
Father  and  son  ?  Oh,  no !  Listen  to  their  con- 
versation. Hear  that  old  sport  talk !  The  young 
man  is  a  well-known  pander  and  the  old  man  a 
prosperous  banker  from  out-of-town.  They  have 
met  on  the  cars.  They  step  into  the  hotel  across 
the  way  to  take  a  drink.  The  younger  man  is 
hard-headed  and  knows  town  like  a  book;  but  the 
gray-haired  old  sinner  is  ready  for  him  or  any 
other  pander  in  the  city,  in  a  drinking  bout  or  con- 
test with  the  other  element,  any  time  of  the  night 
or  day.  Men  about  town  have  for  years  tried, 
and  still  are  trying,  to  make  a  good  thing  of  this 
gray-haired  roue,  whom  all  the  girls  like,  al- 
though he  squanders  little  of  his  bank's  wealth 
upon  them. 

"Let  us  turn  to  a  well-known  gambling  head- 
quarters on  Broadway,  only  a  few  blocks  away. 
Here  a  familiar  scene  is  being  enacted.  A  man, 
well  known  in  manufacturing  circles,  owner  of  a 
big  mill,  is  winding  up  a  four  or  five  days'  debauch. 
Ostensibly,  he  has  been  busy  for  his  firm,  during 
the  period  that  has  elapsed  since  he  bade  his 


68  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


young  wife  farewell..  He  is  not  over  thirty  years 
of  age,  looks  strong-headed,  but  has  a  weak  chin. 
He  has  been  winning  heavily  each  day  at  poker 
and  his  pockets  are  stuffed  with  hundred-dollar 
bills.  The  proprietor  of  the  place  has  invited  him 
to  take  a  farewell  drink  and  the  young  man  reels 
up  to  the  bar  beside  him.  The  two  men  are  left 
alone  for  a  second,  during  which  the  sound  of  a 
fall  is  heard.  The  young  man  has  fallen  forward 
onto  the  footrail,  cutting  his  head  badly.  An 
ambulance  is  called,  but  before  it  reaches  the 
hospital  with  its  occupant,  he  has  died  of  a  frac- 
tured skull.  What  became  of  his  thousands  V 
one  asks.  No  one  will  ever  know.  They  disap- 
peared quickly  and  mysteriously. 

"Do  not  tire  yet  nor  let  these  scenes  pall  upon 
you,  for  the  Tenderloin  is  a  vast  theatre. 

"Glance  into  the  fine  apartment  on  Thirty- 
fourth  street,  between  Fourth  and  Fifth  avenues, 
where  yon  see  every  sign  of  luxury,  and  learn  the 
story  of  a  sister's  shame.  The  two  most  elegantly 
attired  and  most  stylish  looking  women  there  own 
the  house  and  the  bodies  and  souls  of  the  other 
inmates.  Less  than  a  year  ago,  the  elder  of  the 
two  was  the  wife  of  a  respectable  clerk,  and  the 
younger  an  innocent  country  girl.  The  city  sis- 
ter is  very  handsome,  too  handsome  for  a  poor 
clerk,  by  far.   At  least  she  thought  so.    A  beauti- 


Marian's  Dark  Hour.  69 


ful  woman  is  worth  money  in  Xew  York.  When 
the  younger  sister  came  to  the  city  on  a  visit,  the 
married  sister  planned  her  downfall.  The  young 
girl  took  the  fancy  of  one  of  the  wife's  admirers. 
He  offered  to  start  them  in  the  Thirty-fourth 
street  place  if  the  younger  one  could  be  secured 
for  him,  and  her  sister  carried  out  the  plot  suc- 
cessfully. The  poor  clerk  now  struggles  on  alone, 
and  sometimes  wife  and  sister,  in  a  handsome 
carriage,  pass  him  by,  with  a  contemptuous  smile. 
"Such  is  Tenderloin  life. 

"Glance  for  a  moment  into  West  Sixteenth 
street,  near  Fifth  avenue,  for  a  'finished  touch'  of 
Tenderloin  vice.  In  front  of  a  substantial-looking 
mansion,  at  the  door  of  which  is  a  small  brass 
modiste's  sign,  stops  a  carriage.  It  is  that  of  the 
wife  of  a  Xew  York  busy  man  of  wealth,  a  man 
who  is  piling  up  millions  to  provide  for  this 
woman's  pleasures.  The  woman  is  no  longer 
young  and  attractive,  but  she  is  richly  dressed, 
although  her  dresses  are  not  made  by  Madame 
Dell  (short  for  Delilah).  A  boy  in  buttons  an- 
swers the  ring  and  the  caller  enters  a  richly  fur- 
nished parlor.  On  the  tables  are  a  couple  of 
albums,  containing  the  portraits  of  numerous 
young  men,  all  more  or  less  good-looking. 

"When  Madame  Dell  enters  the  room,  she  bows 


70  A  Serpent  s  Feast. 


familiarly  to  her  guest,  who,  pointing  to  one  of 
the  photographs  says  quietly : 
"  'Is  he  in  town  ? 

"Madame  consults  a  diary  and  answers  in  the 
affirmative. 

"The  matronly  lady  smiles  a  pleased  smile.  She 
can  have  her  first  selection.  The  canons  of  deli- 
cacy forbid  the  pursuance  of  this  case  any  further. 
Enough  has  been  told  to  show  how  far  this  social 
stain  penetrates. 

"On  yet !  We  must  pass  further  on  to  reach  all 
the  subtleties  of  the  Serpent's  Feast. 

"Let  us  glance  into  this  apparently  respectable 
saloon,  enticed  to  do  so  by  the  song  and  laughter 
from  within.  We  are  on  Eighth  avenue  now, 
where  honest  and  good  folks  live  on  every  block. 
The  bar  in  front  is  a  mere  pretence,  a  veil  sup- 
posed to  save  the  real  character  of  the  place  from 
suspicion.  We  pass  the  bar  and  enter  a>  large 
hall,  aglare  with  lights  and  with  a  platform  in 
the  rear.  An  orchestra,  composed  of  a  pianist 
and  a  fiddler,  is  creating  a  din  supposed  to  repre- 
sent melody.  On  the  stage,  a  young  girl  is  sing- 
ing in  about  the  same  grade  as  the  orchestra  is 
playing.  But  she  is  singing  a  song  that  no  respec- 
table woman  can  listen  to  without  a  blush.  The 
audience  seated  at  tables,  is  concerning  itself  but 
little  with  the  stage.    The  different  persons  are 


Marain's  Dark  Hour.  71 


seated  at  small  tables,  employing  themselves  vari- 
ously. A  gray-haired  old  farmer  is  gaping  at  the 
picture  of  paint  and  short  skirts  on  the  stage,  who 
is  trying  to  sing,  while  a  young  girl  of  fourteen, 
who  has  seated  herself  opposite  to  him,  is  trying 
to  attract  his  attention.  An  old  and  giddy  fanner 
is  always  'good  graft/  Two  women  are  seated 
at  the  next  table,  one  of  whom  is  also  ogling  the 
old  man.  The  younger  of  the  couple  is  a  married 
woman,  whose  husband  had  gone  out  of  town  for 
the  night.  She  has  come  with  a  friend,  a  woman 
who  is  a  little  fast,  to  see  what  the  concert  hall 
is  like.  She  is  told  by  her  friend  that  she  can 
make  a  few  dollars  to  buy  some  knick-knacks  with, 
if  she  desires,  and  she  is  nibbling  at  the  serpent's 
bait.  Her  husband  is  away  and  may  be  enjoying 
himself  similarly,  so  she  thinks  perhaps  it  may 
be  just  as  well  to  have  her  own  good  time  and  fall. 
She  is  married — who  will  know  the  difference? 
Her  little  children  are  tucked  away  snugly  in  bed 
and  she  needs  a  new  dress.  Why  'not'?  Cui 
bono?  She  is  breathing  the  atmosphere  of  hell, 
has  listened  to  the  serpent's  first  whisper. 

"At  another  table,  men  and  women  are  sitting. 
The  women  proclaim  themselves.  Suddenly  there 
is  a  string  of  oaths  pealing  out — one  of  the  men 
has  missed  his  watch  and  is  accusing  his  com- 
panions of  having  taken  it.    He  did  not  know  that 


72  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


the  man  who  had  invited  him  to  take  a  drink  was 
a  crook  and  the  women  his  confederates.  The 
discussion  becomes  lively  and  a  big  heavily-built 
fellow,  with  the  eye  and  look  of  a  bully,  ap- 
proaches. He  is  told  what  the  object  of  the  dis- 
cussion is  and,  without  a  word,  grabs  the  accuser 
— not  the  accused — by  the  collar  and  marches  him 
to  the  door.  If  the  victim  struggles,  he  is  given 
a  good  kick,  which  sends  him  rolling  out  beyond 
the  curb.  The  policeman  on  the  corner  walks 
quickly  away  down  a  side  street,  while  the 
'bouncer'  waits  at  the  door  to  administer  another 
kick,  if  the  man  attempts  to  return. 

"But  this  victim  is  lucky.  Eighth  avenue  is  sev- 
eral grades  above  Tenth,  socially,  although  not 
morally.  Over  there,  a  crowd  of  men  and  women 
have  been  drinking  in  a  corner  saloon  of  the  cheap- 
est description.  Some  of  the  men  and  women  are 
black  and  some  white.  A  white  man  has,  been 
drinking  with  a  woman  for  some  time.  He  is  a 
brawny  looking  young  longshoreman.  A  man  en- 
ters and  calls  to  the  woman  to  come  out.  She  is 
his  wife,  but  she  laughs  at  his  suggestion.  He 
commences  to  create  a  disturbance.  The  young 
fellow,  assisted  by  the  half-intoxicated  barkeeper, 
'go  for  him/  One  strikes  and  the  other  kicks 
him.  He  falls  outside  with  a  fractured  skull  and 
dies  before  the  ambulance  arrives.    What  of  it? 


Marian's  Dark  Hour.  73 


Cui  bono?  This  is  the  offscourings  of  the  Ser- 
pent's Feast. 

"Turn  whichever  way  you  will,  the  venom  is 
pouring  from  his  fangs  to  poison  and  sadden  the 
fair  strong  germs  of  human  life.  That  Serpent's 
Feast  once  tasted,  joy  is  gone,  love  is  blighted, 
the  dream  of  beauty  shattered  as  by  a  demon 
spell. 

"I  will  conclude  this  lecture/'  said  the  speaker, 
"by  telling  a  hideous,  but  true,  story,  and  I  shall 
tell  it  in  all  its  hideousness  of  detail  in  order  that 
my  words  may  leave  a  more  lasting  impression 
on  your  minds. 

"Aimee !  litle  Aimee !  what  a  story  was  yours," 
and  the  strong  man's  voice  quivered  and  almost 
broke  into  sobs. 

"I  went  to  the  Morgue  one  morning  not  long 
ago,  having  been  notified  that  one  of  our  women 
was  there.  I  wondered  as  I  walked  along  which 
one  had  been  the  last  to  take  the  Eiver  route  to 
eternity. 

"Perhaps  you  have  never  seen  the  rough,  dirty, 
loathsome  boxes,  half-filled  with  ice,  into  which 
the  bodies  of  those  dragged  out  of  the  river  are 
thrown,  and  left  in  their  tawdry  finery,  or  what- 
ever it  may  be,  for  the  short  time  they  are  kept 
awaiting  identification.  It  is  a  dreadful  sight, 
and  so  many,  unfortunately,  are  women,  of  our 


74  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


class,  who  have  brought  their  short,  hapless  lives 
to  a  close,  to  escape  a  worse  ending. 

"I  passed  along  the  row  of  iced  boxes  in  the  dead 
house,  until  I  came  to  a  face  I  knew,  passing  many 
women  who  had  once  been  fair,  and  some 
even  who  had  preserved  through  all  their  shocking 
experience  the  freshness  and  fairness  of  youth. 

"It  was  Aimee,  as  I  had  feared.  Poor  child, 
for  she  was  nothing  more.  She  lay  as  calm  and 
peaceful  in  the  dirty  box  as  if  her  mother  had 
soothed  her  to  sleep  in  the  old  Norman  farmhouse 
whence  she  had  come. 

"Two  years  I  had  known  Aimee,  and  that  is 
usually  the  tenure  for  the  very  young  who  enter  a 
life  of  shame. 

"She  drifted  into  the  mission  one  night  and  that 
was  when  I  first  heard  her  awful  story. 

"She  was  a  beautiful,  rosy-cheeked  girl,  with 
dark,  laughing  eyes,  and  beautiful  dark-brown 
hair,  teeth  like  pearls,  and  a  figure  like  a  Psyche. 

"She  was  well  educated.  Had  been  a  teacher 
in  the  cure's  family. 

"One  day  at  Dieppe,  she  met  a  fascinating 
woman,  who  laughed  at  the  idea  of  Aimee  remain- 
ing a  poor  governess,  with  such  beauty — such 
beauty ! — ah !  what  a  lure  it  is  for  the  serpent 
whose  trail  is  over  us  all. 

"Aimee  was  crazy  to  go  on  the  stage.  What 


Marian's  Dark  Hour.  75 


she  had  read  of  actresses  had  convinced  her  they 
led  uvea  to  which  those  of  the  angels  were  merely 
commonplace. 

"The  handsome  woman  told  her  that  any  beauti- 
ful girl  in  America  could  become  a  famous  ac- 
tress. There  never  were  enough  beautiful  ac- 
tresses to  fill  the  American  theatres,  because  the 
women  there  were  so  homely. 

"One  day  Aimee  was  missing  from  the  cure's 
house.  The  next  she  was  on  board  an  American 
bound  steamer  from  Havre,  with  a  number  of 
other  girls  who  were  going  to  become  actresses 
and  owners  of  boundless  wealth,  which  would 
enable  them  to  buy  chateaus  and  diamonds  for  all 
the  poor  friends  they  had  left  behind. 

"To  make  the  story  short,  they  arrived  in  Xew 
York,  and  were  taken  direct  to  a  house  in  West 
Third  street,  a  dingy-looking  place,  where  they 
were  told  they  would  only  have  to  stay  a  few  days 
until  arrangements  could  be  made  for  them  at  the 
hotel. 

"Once  at  this  Inferno,  Aimee  was  told  that  she 
would  have  to  learn  to  dance,  and  was  taken  into 
a  room  where  a  lot  of  girls  in  flimsy  attire  were 
dancing  the  can-can.  Poor  child !  She  put  her 
hands  before  her  eyes  at  the  hideous  sight.  She 
looked  despairingly  at  her  patroness ;  but  her  tim- 
idity was  met  with  only  a  hard  smile. 


76  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


"  'You  must  learn  it,  too,  or  you  can  never  be- 
come a  great  actress/  was  the  only  solace  she  re- 
ceived from  Madame. 

"  'What,  here  ?    In  this  room  alone  V 

"  'Oh,  no.  Xot  unless  you  like.  Alone  with 
the  dancing  master  upstairs!' 

"The  child  began  to  sob. 

"  'Take  her  upstairs  to  her  room/  said  Madame 
to  one  of  the  girls. 

u  'Xever  mind,  you  will  soon  get  used  to  it/ 
said  this  girl,  as  she  led  the  way  for  Aimee,  and 
left  her  in  a  room,  carefully  locking  the  door  and 
bringing  the  key  back  to  Madame. 

"A  little  later  the  dancing  master  arrived. 

"Madame  led  the  way  upstairs  to  Aimee' s  room. 
Aimee  had  thrown  herself  sobbing  on  the  bed. 

"  'Oh,  she  is  only  a  litle  homesick/  said  Ma- 
dame, as  she  ushered  the  dancing  master  in,  care- 
fully hiding  a  rawhide  behind  her  as  she  deftly 
closed  and  locked  the  door. 

"  'Aimee,  the  dancing  master !  You  must  take 
your  first  lesson,  for  your  engagement  at  the  the- 
atre will  soon  begin.    There  is  no  time  to  be  lost/ 

"Aimee  tremblingly  arose  and  came  forward. 

"'You  must  tak->  off  those  clothes  and  put  on 
this/  said  Madame,  stiffly  handing  the  trembling 
girl  one  of  the  roles  de  chambre,  worn  by  the 
women  below. 


Marian's  Dark  Hour.  77 


"  'But,  Madame,  the  dancing  master  V 
"  'Oh,  he  is  used  to  these  things,  and  you  soon 
will  be.    Take  off  those  things  V 

"Madame's  voice  was  harsh  and  rasping. 
"  'I  cannot/  sobbed  Aimee. 
"  Take  them  off/ 
"  'I  cannot/ 

"In  a  minute  the  rawhide  descended  on  Aimee's 
shoulders. 

"Her  sobs  stopped.    She  realized  at  last. 

"  'Now  take  them  off.  I  shall  leave  the  dancing 
master  to  assist  you,  and  N  if  I  hear  a  sound,  you 
will  get  more  of  this/  and  Madame  swished  the 
rawhide  menacingly  in  the  air.  Then  she  went 
out  alone  and  closed  the  door. 

"In  an  hour  the  dancing  master  descended. 

"  'Is  it  all  right  V  asked  Madame. 

"  'Yes/  replied  the  man.  'I  told  her  it  was  no 
use  to  try  to  oppose  you,  as  you  usually  killed 
troublesome  cases,  and  buried  them  in  the  cellar/ 

"  'She  has  no  more  pipe  dreams  of  the  stage/ 

"  'I  scarcely  think  so/  said  the  man,  with  a 
grin. 

"That  night  three  other  dancing  masters  were 
sent  to  Aimee's  room." 

After  a  few  closing  words  the  speaker  finished, 
and  people  left  their  seats. 

Marian  looked  at  her  watch.    It  was  half-past 


78  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


ten.  As  she  passed  down  among  the  crowd  of 
Tenderloin  denizens  and  others,  whom  curiosity 
had  drawn  to  the  meeting,  she  moved  like  a  person 
in  a  dream. 

What  mysterious  hand  had  directed  her  foot- 
steps to  that  roof  on  that  particular  evening? 
She  wondered.  Was  it  the  spirit  of  a  mother  in 
heaven  watching  over  her  orphan  child? 

Marian  Heath  walked  directly  home. 

Fortunately  she  arrived  before  the  theatre  party 
had  returned,  therefore  her  absence  could  not  be 
noted  and  commented  upon. 

For  one  night  the  tempter  had  been  foiled — a 
victim  spared  from  the  Serpent's  Feast. 


A  Banquet.  79 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

A  BANQUET. 

The  initiation  of  Jules  Latimer  had  become 
practically  forgotten  at  the  Knockabout  Club,  for 
the  occurrences  centering  around  one  individual 
seldom  hold  the  public  long,  either  in  or  out  of  club 
life. 

In  order  to  carve  his  way  to  immortality,  accord- 
ing to  his  lights,  St.  John,  in  conjunction  with  the 
Hindu,  Sunvidi,  who  was  still  a  member  of  the 
Knockabout,  conceived  a  brilliant  scheme.  A 
rival  to  the  "Silly  Dinner,"  to  be  called  "Feast 
of  Satyrs"  was  the  result  of  their  joint  delibera- 
tions, and  it  was  promised  that  it  should  far  eclipse 
in  realism  the  notorious  banquet  of  almost  a  dec- 
ade since,  which  was  given  by  a  prominent  mem- 
ber of  New  York's  Four  Hundred  to  a  number  of 
his  bachelor  friends. 

It  was  even  hinted  that  this  might  be  a  fare- 
well bachelor  dinner  for  St.  John,  as  it  was  said  he 


80  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


had  announced  his  intention  of  joining  the  noble 
order  of  benedicts. 

When  the  evening  arrived,  Harry  Taylor  and 
Jack  Harding  found  themselves  among  the  invited, 
St.  John  having  by  some  queer  caprice  decided  to 
include  them  among  his  guests,  entirely  disdaining 
to  consider  them  as  rivals.  They  had  accepted, 
as  much  fun  was  promised. 

Every  one  was  on  the  tiptoe  of  excitement  and 
wondering  what  the  Feast  of  Satyrs  would  turn 
out  to  be.  The  banquet  was  in  charge  of  Sunvidi, 
and  was  to  be  given  in  the  Hall  of  Mysteries,  a 
stipulation  being  that  all  who  participated  in  it 
were  bound  to  the  closest  secrecy  concerning  the 
proceedings. 

It  had  come  to  be  accepted  as  an  axiom  by  this 
time,  that  Sunvidi  could  accomplish  anything  and 
everything.  Therefore,  those  who  entered  the  Hall 
of  Mysteries,  on  the  night  of  the  Feast  of  Satyrs, 
and  paused  delighted  at  the  magnificent  spectacle 
spread  before  them,  only  echoed  the  universal 
opinion  concerning  that  gentleman's  capabilities. 

The  Feast  of  Belshazzar  would  probably  have 
appeared  a  tame  affair  in  comparison  with  this 
splendidly  evolved  conception,  and,  at  any  rate, 
would  have  been  lacking  in  some  of  the  recherche 
features.  Flowers,  perfumes,  music,  houris, 
wines  of  the  rarest,  dishes  of  the  daintiest  abandon 


A  Banquet.  81 


of  the  kind  that  made,  the  feasts  of  the  Ancient 
Greeks  one  wild  long  revel.  Such  was  the  Feast 
of  the  Satyrs. 

Behind  the  chair  of  each  guest  stood  a  Persian 
dancing  girl,  red-lipped,  voluptuous,  lithesome, 
languishing  and  unspeakably  beautiful,  ready  to 
replenish  or  replace  the  dishes  that  followed  one 
another  with  marvelous  rapidity.  But  the  cyno- 
sure of  all  eyes,  the  crowning  point  of  all  the  ar- 
tistic revelry,  was  one  fairer  and  more  voluptuous 
than  all  the  rest,  who  reposed  upon  the  dais  where 
the  duel  between  Sunvidi  and  Latimer  had  been 
fought. 

The  feast  was  half  over  before  her  presence  was 
noticed,  and  then  men  began  to  think  that  they 
had  drunken  too  deeply  of  the  delicious  wines  and 
that  their  senses  were  betraying  them  into  Oriental 
illusion. 

But  there  was  no  mistake  about  the  woman. 
She  lay  there  on  a  couch,  half  smothered  in  roses 
— dark  red  roses,  that  matched  so  well  with 
her  creamy  complexion  a«id  wonderful  blue-black 
eyes. 

Had  the  mysterious  Hindu  reserved  this  dainty 
creature  for  his  own  delectation?  Was  she  to  be 
the  partner  of  the  host  himself,  or  for  what  pur- 
pose had  the  dazzling  temptation  been  provided  ? 

The  banquet  proceeded.    It  seemed  as  if  the 


82  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


courses  to  be  served  were  infinite.  Each  dish 
seemed  to  surpass  its  predecessor.  Who  was  the 
mysterious  caterer  that  could  supply  a  banquet  be- 
side which  the  best  efforts  of  the  Waldorf  chefs 
would  have  paled  into  insignificance  ? 

The  only  answer  was — "Sunvidi." 

From  some  unseen  source,  the  handmaidens 
frequently  replaced  the  goblets  of  rare  wine.  The 
air  reeked  with  perfumes,  dispensed  from  censers 
swinging  in  the  softly  mellowed  light.  It  was 
a  dream  of  the  Orient — rich,  radiant,  sensuous  and 
overwhelming. 

The  high  seasoning  of  the  viands  and  the  in- 
toxicating effect  of  the  drinks  were  beginning  to 
affect  some  of  the  banqueters.  Suddenly  a  con- 
cealed orchestra  started  up,  playing  some  ravishing 
air,  to  which  the  serving  maids  kept  time  with 
their  prettily  sandaled  feet,  as  if  longing  to  dance, 
and,  at  a  signal  from  Sunvidi,  they  began  to 
gyrate  around  the  room.  What  those  Oriental 
dances  are  all  men  know. 

But  the  woman  on  the  rug  still  riveted  the  at- 
tention of  almost  all  the  guests.  Burning  eyes 
blazed  upon  her  from  every  point  to  which  she 
replied  with  the  most  languishing  glances. 

Then  every  one  became  conscious  of  the  presence 
of  an  enormous  mastiff  in  the  room.  The  brute 
first  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  hall  to  where  the 


A  Banquet.  83 


woman  lay,  but  he  gradually,  almost  imperceptibly 
drew  nearer  to  her  and  finally  crouched  at  a  point 
about  half  way  down  the  long  banquet  chamber. 

The  dog  and  the  woman  soon  divided  the  atten- 
tion of  every  one  in  the  assemblage.  The  eyes  of 
the  animal  had  become  fixed  upon  the  beauty,  and 
she  seemed  to  yield  slowly  and  reluctantly  to  this 
strange  obsession,  her  glances  towards  the  men  in 
the  room  changing,  until  they  took  upon  them  more 
the  form  of  an  appeal  than  of  an  attempt  to  fas- 
cinate. 

Every  one  felt  that  the  mastiff  was  exercising 
some  baleful  influence  over  the  woman.  Sudden- 
ly the  spell  was  broken,  she  looked  caressingly 
towards  the  dog  and  smiled.  Almost  with  one 
bound,  the  huge  beast  reached  her,  and,  seizing 
the  trembling  form  in  his  massive  jaws,  dashed  out 
of  sight  between  the  portieres. 

As  the  horrified  spectators  sprang  to  their  feet, 
with  the  intention  of  rescuing  the  woman,  they 
saw  that  each  of  the  dancing  girls  had  disappeared 
and  was  replaced  by  a  trim,  snug-looking,  con- 
ventional colored  waiter. 

Their  chagrin  can  be  easily  imagined.  Turning 
to  Sunvidi  for  explanation,  they  found  that  he  had 
disappeared  together  with  their  host,  and  several 
of  the  guests  averred  that  they  heard  the  cynical 


84  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


laugh  of  the  Hindu  follow  them  as  they  left  the 
banquet  chamber. 

While  some  of  the  participants  in  the  banquet 
claimed  that  they  had  been  the  victims  of  a 
hypnotic  illusion,  others  stoutly  maintained  that 
they  were  perfectly  sure  that  they  had  eaten  enough 
food  for  several  days  to  come,  and  so  the  great 
Feast  of  the  Satyrs  passed  over  and  was  regarded 
fitly  as  the  most  unique  dinner  that  Xew  York 
had  ever  known.  The  transformation  of  the  houris 
into  black  waiters  was  the  most  amusing  climax 
Sunvidi  had  yet  consummated. 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  85 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AX  EXPERIENCE  IN  CHINATOWN. 

Two  days  had  passed  since  the  eventful  episode 
in  the  cab,  and  Jack  Harding  had  not  made  a 
call  upon  Marian  Heath.  Had  he  been  asked  to 
explain  his  reason  for  not  having  done  so,  he  could 
have  given  no  rational  answer. 

Was  he  afraid  of  the  consequences  of  his  rash 
conduct,  or  had  his  love  for  the  beautiful  coquette 
died  out  in  that  one  wild  cyclonic  outburst  of  pas- 
sionate vehemence  ? 

All  men  are  cowards  where  a  woman  is  con- 
cerned, and  Jack  was  probably  frightened  at  the 
possibly  tragic  significance  of  what  Miss  Heath 
might  have  meant  to  say  to  him,  after  the  impru- 
dence into  which  he  had  permitted  himself  to  be 
betrayed. 

Not  daring  for  a  moment  to  call  upon  one  young 
woman,  Jack  adopted  what  probably  was  a  most 
unwise  expedient.  He  called  upon  another  young 
woman,  casting  himself,  as  it  were,  from  the  horns 
of  one  dilemma  upon  those  of  another.    It  did 


86  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


not  surprise  him  to  find  himself  rather  formally 
and  even  coldly  received  by  Helen  Van  Duyne, 
when  he  made  his  first  appearance  after  an  absence 
of  weeks. 

Having  suddenly  stopped  visiting  the  young  wo- 
man altogether,  after  being  a  regular  caller  and 
almost  something  more,  certainly  was  an  inex- 
plicable piece  of  conduct  and  admitted  of  but  one 
explanation. 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Harding,  that  you  forget 
old  friends  very  easily,"  said  Helen,  with  more 
acerbity  than  Jack  had  ever  expected  her  to  be 
capable  of. 

Jack  muttered  some  marvelous  invention  in  ex- 
tenuation of  his  conduct,  which  threw  the  blame 
upon  club  life  and  dissipations,  and  moreover 
presented  such  a  dismal  picture  of  contrite  sub- 
missiveness  that  the  gentle  heart  of  Helen  was 
immediately  touched. 

Helen  Van  Duyne  was  a  delightful  expression 
of  that  true  and  unsullied  young  womanhood, 
which  is  the  crowning  glory  of  civilization,  and 
under  the  spell  of  her  good-natured  forgiveness, 
Jack  Harding  soon  found  himself  making  com- 
parisons between  her  and  Marian  Heath,  which, 
while  they  were  not  perhaps  entirely  odious,  were 
very  much  in  favor  of  the  gentle  Helen. 

But,  alas,  had  the  gates  of  Paradise  closed  to 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  87 


him?  Too  late,  perhaps,  he  had  discovered  the 
difference  between  the  true  and  the  false,  and 
sacrificed  the  joys  of  pure  affection  for  that  Dead 
Sea  fruit,  which  is  the  delusion  of  so  many. 

It  seemed  like  the  awakening  from  a  nightmare. 
Had  he  yet  shaken  off  the  influence  of  Marian? 
One  never  knows  until  the  temptation  is  faced 
anew,  if  they  will  fall  again. 

Let  such  thoughts  pass.  Jack  was  young  and 
volatile,  and  unpleasant  thoughts  are  not,  hap- 
pily, much  cultivated  whilst  we  are  in  the  twen- 
ties, so  that  for  the  nonce,  he  basked  in  the  smiles 
of  a  woman  whom  he  now  believed  regarded  him 
sincerely,  if  not  with  a  degree  of  tenderness. 

Before  he  left,  Jack  proposed  a  visit  to  the  opera 
to  Helen,  who  accepted  the  invitation  as  naturally 
and  pleasantly  as  if  no  break  had  occurred  in  their 
friendly  intercourse. 

Another  two  days  passed  and  Jack  still  absented 
himself  from  Marian  Heath,  a  vague  fear  possess- 
ing him  that  he  would  soon  see  some  evidence  of 
her  resentment  at  his  neglect. 

But  how  little  does  a  man,  especially  a  young 
man,  know  a  woman. 

The  evening  when  he  was  to  take  Miss  Van 
Duyne  to  the  opera  arrived,  and  as  yet  no  thunder- 
bolt had  fallen. 

That  young  lady,  for  some  reason  or  other, 


88  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


which,  perhaps,  she  would  not  have  cared  to  tell, 
was  in  exuberant  spirits  and  she  was  wearing  a 
superb  bunch  of  roses,  which  Jack  had  sent  her, 
his  previous  lesson  in  etiquette  having  taught  him 
not  to  make  a  mistake  a  second  time. 

As  soon  as  they  had  taken  their  seats  at  the 
Metropolitan  Opera  House,  Jack,  who  felt  some 
mysterious  warning,  used  his  opera-glass  to  effect 
in  a  rapid  survey  of  the  house.  To  his  intense  re- 
lief, he  saw  no  one  that  he  knew. 

A  moment  later,  however,  his  heart  leaped  to 
his  throat.  Coming  towards  them,  were  Marian 
Heath  and  Clifford  St.  John.  The  latter,  recog- 
nizing Miss  Van  Duyne,  whom  he  knew,  bowed 
and  introduced  the  two  young  women. 

In  Miss  Heath's  manner,  there  was  no  sign  of 
feeling  as  she  bowed  to  Harding,  while  Jack  acted 
in  as  stereotyped  a  manner  as  possible.  Neverthe- 
less, as  he  watched  the  first  act  of  the  play,  he 
was  the  object  of  very  conflicting  emotions.  The 
coincidence  of  meeting  was  one  than  which  he 
could  have  conjectured  nothing  more  disagreeable. 
It  was  worse  than  that,  it  was  exasperating,  and 
so  jarred  Jack's  nerves  for  a  few  moments,  that  he 
was  meditating  a  sudden  departure  from  New 
York  forever,  when  the  curtain  went  down,  and 
his  companions  immediately  dropped  into  discus- 
sion of  the  performance. 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  89 


The  two  women  appeared  to  be  very  agreeably 
disposed  towards  each  other,  and,  after  a  few 
moments,  Jack's  restraint  wore  off  and  he  joined 
in  the  criticism. 

Jack  Harding  had  no  sooner  regained  his  equi- 
librium, than  he  noticed  a  look  of  anxiety,  if  not 
of  alarm,  overspreading  the  usual  simian-like 
placidity  of  St.  John's  pudgy  countenance.  The 
young  aristocrat  had,  in  fact,  discovered  his  father, 
mother  and  sister  seated  quite  near  them.  Upon 
recognizing  him,  they  had  looked  sharply  and 
scrutinizingly  at  his  companion,  with  whom  they 
had  met  him  driving  on  a  recent  afternoon.  Their 
constant  fear  was  that  Clifford,  owing  to  his  er- 
ratic nature,  would  contract  a  mesalliance.  They 
were,  consequently,  very  anxious  concerning  the 
social  standing  of  the  young  women  with  whom 
he  appeared  in  public.  With  the  warning  of  sev- 
eral similar  experiences  of  a  like  nature,  the  bank- 
er's son  knew  what  awaited  him  at  home  the  fol- 
lowing morning. 

At  the  suggestion  of  St.  John,  the  party  upon 
leaving  the  theatre,  proceeded  to  a  prominent  hotel 
for  supper.  During  the  progress  of  the  meal,  Miss 
Van  Duyne  extended  an  invitation  to  Miss  Heath 
to  a  musicale,  which  was  promptly  accepted.  St. 
John  was  then  invited  to  take  part  in  the  function 
and  to  act  as  Miss  Heath's  escort.    To  Jack,  Miss 


90  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


Van  Duyne  simply  said,  with  the  air  of  an  inti- 
mate: 

"It  is  unnecessary  to  extend  a  special  invitation 
to  you,  as  that  is  of  course  understood." 

The  long  lashes  fringing  Miss  Heath's  violet 
eyes  swept  downward  for  a  moment  at  this  little 
sally,  but  that  was  the  only  sign  she  gave  of  hav- 
ing fully  unmasked  Jack's  perfidy.  That  gentle- 
man himself  looked  like  a  small  section  of  a  poppy 
field,  for  a  few  seconds,  and  inwardly  felt  as  com- 
fortable as  a  man  might,  sitting  between  the 
mouth  of  Sheol  and  the  Tarpeian  Eock  or  Cha- 
rybdis. 

St.  John  came  to  the  relief,  as  commonplace  or 
disagreeable  persons  often  do,  by  making  a  simple 
suggestion. 

"I  do  not  know  how  you  will  like  the  idea,"  he 
said,  addressing  himself  to  the  two  women,  "but  I 
am  acquainted  with  a  certain  party  who  is  thor- 
oughly familiar  with  every  corner  of  Xew  York 
City,  and,  in  response  to  a  'phone  call,  can  be  here 
in  a  few  minutes.  He  will  safely  pilot  us  through 
Chinatown,  and  point  out  to  us  everything  of  in- 
terest, if  you  would  care  to  see  it." 

Miss  Heath  immediately  expressed  herself  as 
being  delighted  with  the  proposal,  but  Miss  Van 
Duyne  hesitated.  The  hour  was  already  late,  and 
her  parents  would  wonder  what  had  become  of  her, 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  91 


The  matter  was  settled  by  a  message  being  sent, 
both  to  Mrs.  Van  Duyne  and  to  Mrs.  Williams, 
stating  that  the  young  women  had  joined  a  party 
who  were  going  slumming  to  Chinatown. 

St.  John  then  telephoned  the  guide,  who  prom- 
ised to  be  on  hand  at  once. 

It  was  not  long  before  Mr.  Michael  Hogan  ap- 
peared, and  as  he  told  them  he  knew  China- 
town thoroughly,  and  nothing  skould  harm  them, 
the  young  women  felt  assured,  and  carriages  were 
ordered  without  delay. 

Shortly  after  they  arrived  in  the  Celestial  dis- 
trict and  stopped  before  the  Chinese  theatre. 

The  place  was  filled  with  Mongolians,  who  sat 
on  long  wooden  benches,  placed  across  the  entire 
width  of  the  theatre,  leaving  a  small  aisle  in  the 
centre. 

"I  suppose  you  have  not  noticed  that  they  have 
all  removed  their  shoes,  which  may  be  seen  under 
the  benches,  and  are  sitting  on  the  backs  of  their 
seats,"  said  the  guide. 

"Why,  no;  how  curious  !"  replied  Helen.  "Why 
is  that?" 

"It's  simply  one  of  their  customs,"  responded 
Mr.  Hogan.  "You  will  observe,"  he  continued, 
"that  the  costumes  rf  the  actors  are  very  grotesque, 
and,  in  fact,  the  entire  arrangement  of  their  play 
is  different  from  ours.    For  instance,  only  those 


92  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


occupying  the  front  of  the  stage  take  an  active 
part  in  the  performance,  while  those  in  the  rear, 
although  in  plain  view  of  the  audience,  are  await- 
ing their  turn.  The  entire  object  of  the  play 
seems  to  be  to  make  as  much  noise  as  possible. 
These  plays  are  not  finished  in  a  night,  but  con- 
tinue for  three  or  four  months,  with  the  audience 
in  nightly  attendance." 

"I  wonder  how  it  is  that  they  don't  tire  of  it," 
said  Marian.  "It  must  grow  terribly  monotonous." 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  the  guide,  "they  have 
never  seen  anything  different,  and  if  they  had, 
would  probably  prefer  their  own,  and  now  I  think 
you  have  all  seen  enough  here;  ten  minutes  of 
this  show  ought  to  satisfy  any  one  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  Chinaman. 

"The  next  place  I  am  going  to  show  you  is  the 
Chinese  house  of  worship,  the  Joss  house.  ,The 
Chinese  Sabbath  falls  on  Monday,  and  on  that  day 
the  Temple  is  crowded." 

He  thereupon  led  the  way  upstairs  and  the  party 
at  once  began  inspection  of  the  various  points  of 
interest.  The  altar  was  a  small  raised  platform 
at  the  front  of  the  room,  and  upon  it  stood  three 
red  jars  filled  with  earth,  in  which  were  placed 
burning  sticks  of  incense,  which  sent  forth  a  pleas- 
ant aroma. 

"Come  to  the  rear  of  the  room,"  said  Mr.  Hogan, 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  93 


"and  I  will  show  you  some  fine  wood  carvings. 
The  Chinese  are  experts  in  this." 

The  carving  consisted  of  Chinese  idols  and 
strange  Oriental  scenes,  vividly  pictured  and  en- 
cased in  a  frame  about  ten  feet  in  width. 

Next  to  this  carving  stood  a  bell-shaped  canopy, 
draped  with  opaque  cloth,  and,  in  answer  to  the 
ladies'  surprised  inquiry,  Mr.  Hogan  explained: 

"When  two  Chinamen  quarrel,  they  are  com- 
pelled to  go  under  the  canopy  and  forgive  each 
other,  and  it  is  also  used  when  there  is  business 
competition  between  two.  They  walk  under  the 
canopy  behind  the  curtain,  continuing  to  change 
places,  with  the  object  of  hiding  their  identity 
from  onlookers.  You  will  notice  that  the  opaque 
cloth  falls  to  within  a  few  inches  of  the  ground, 
and  that  it  is  therefore  impossible  for  outsiders 
to  distinguish  those  inside.  Upon  a  given  signal, 
each  points  to  the  supposed  man  of  his  choice, 
and  he  who  receives  the  greatest  support,  wins; 
his  opponent  being  forced  to  move  his  place  of 
business. 

"A  curious  arrangement,  isn't  it?"  said  Jack; 
which  was  agreed  to  unanimously. 

"That  book  next  to  the  altar,"  continued  Mr. 
Hogan,  "is  said  by  the  Chinese  to  be  a  couple  of 
thousand  years  old,  and  as  no  living  man  can 


94  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


prove  to  the  contrary,  we  will  have  to  take  their 
word  for  it." 

After  having  seen  everything  of  interest,  Jack 
and  Cliff  bought  various  novelties  from  the  sex- 
ton, and  the  party  decided  to  take  its  departure. 

"Are  you  ladies  very  much  afraid  of  rats?"  in- 
quired the  guide,  smiling. 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  said  Marian. 

"Because,  if  you  are  not,  I  will  show  you  a  sight 
you  have  never  seen  before." 

He  led  the  way  into  an  adjacent  building,  and, 
having  procured  a  lantern,  opened  a  small  door 
and  descended  a  few  steps,  calling  to  the  others 
to  follow. 

"Oh,  isn't  this  horrible !"  suddenly  cried  Helen, 
with  a  shudder. 

Her  exclamation  was  not  to  be  wondered  at, 
for  there,  in  the  glow  of  the  lamplight,  hundreds 
of  rodents,  nearly  as  large  as  ferrets,  could  plainly 
be  seen  running  to  and  fro,  the  light  no  doubt  hav- 
ing caused  consternation  in  their  ranks. 

Needless  to  say,  the  party  did  not  tarry  long, 
and  as  soon  as  they  had  again  reached  the  street, 
Mr.  Hogan  said : 

"Now  that  we  are  once  more  in  the  fresh  air,  I 
want  to  tell  you  a  little  story.  A  few  months 
ago,  a  drunken  man,  who  had  heard  of  that  cellar, 
descended  into  it  alone,  with  a  lamp  in  his  hands, 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  95 


and,  losing  his  balance,  fell  to  the  bottom  of  those 
stairs,  where  he  lay  unconscious  until  devoured  by 
the  rats.  When  found,  only  his  skeleton  was  left 
the  rats  having  picked  the  bones  perfectly  clean. 

"The  next  thing  on  the  programme,"  said  the 
guide,  "is  a  beetle  fight,  an  exceptional  perform- 
ance, rarely  witnessed  by  any  but  Mongolians. 
Come  right  in  here  with  me,  but  be  careful,  as 
the  hall  is  dark,  and  we  will  be  compelled  to  grope 
our  way  up  another  flight  of  stairs." 

Upon  arriving  at  the  top  of  the  landing,  the 
door  was  opened  by  one  of  the  Celestials,  who, 
upon  recognizing  the  guide,  grinned  a  pleasant 
greeting. 

The  room  was  full  of  men,  perched  on  high 
chairs,  around  a  long,  oval  table.  The  party 
hardly  had  time  to  take  in  these  surroundings, 
when  two  men  entered  the  room,  each  bearing  a 
small  dish,  the  contents  of  which  proved  to  be 
two  beetles,  which,  the  guide  explained,  had  been 
starved  for  the  occasion.  These  were  thrown  into 
a  large  low  jar,  the  cover  of  which  was  a  magni- 
fying glass,  which  enlarged  the  size  of  the  in- 
sects to  great  proportions.  Being  crazed  by 
hunger,  the  beetles  immediately  began  to  tear  at 
each  other.  In  spite  of  its  ghastliness,  the  sight 
seemed  to  possess  a  fascination  for  all ;  the  Chinese 
freely  betting  on  their  favorite  and  chattering 


96  A  Serpent's  Feast 


incessantly,  with  evident  delight.  Finally  one  of 
the  contestants  wa»  mortally  wounded,  and  the 
victor  ate  all  that  remained  of  its  body. 

"Well,  that's  the  limit,"  said  St.  John.  "The 
most  bloodthirsty  individual  couldn't  wish  for  any- 
thing worse  than  that !" 

"Now  we  will  look  at  something  of  a  different 
nature/'  said  Mr.  Hogan,  as  he  led  the  way  up- 
stairs. 

After  some  difficulty  in  gaining  admittance,  he 
finally  persuaded  the  guard  to  allow  his  party  to 
enter.  There  were  about  fifty  Chinamen  in  the 
room,  and  almost  all  were  engaged  in  playing 
fan-tan.  All  displayed  the  keenest  interest  in 
the  game,  but  appeared  good  natured,  and  there 
was  no  sign  of  quarreling. 

Here,  the  party  had  an  excellent  opportunity 
for  studying  faces.  A  great  many,  people  are 
under  the  impression  that  all  Chinamen  look  alike, 
but,  upon  closer  observation,  one  can  readily  dis- 
tinguish a  difference  in  features  as  marked  as  in 
members  of  the  Caucasian  race.  Apparently  the 
players  did  not  notice  the  presence  of  the  intrud- 
ers, but  with  stolid  indifference  confined  their  at- 
tention strictly  to  the  cards,  which  were  longer 
and  narrower  than  the  usual  playing  cards. 

The  next  point  where  the  party  directed  their 
steps  was  a  typical  Bowery  resort,  having  a  bar- 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  97 


room  on  the  ground  floor,  and  a  fairly  large  danc- 
ing-room on  the  floor  above  to  where  the  party 
made  their  way  and  seated  themselves  at  a  table. 
A  number  of  men  and  women,  of  the  class  nat- 
urally congregating  here,  were  enjoying  the  danc- 
ing, some  of  the  women  being  white,  their  com- 
panions being  whites  or  Chinamen.  It  goes  with- 
out saying  that  the  dance  and  all  surrounding 
circumstances  afforded  great  amusement  to  Helen 
and  Marian,  presenting  to  them  as  it  did  some- 
thing so  radically  different  from  anything  they 
had  ever  witnessed.  After  they  had  satisfied  their 
curiosity  and  love  for  the  unique,  the  guide  said: 
"I  will  now  conduct  you  to  the  room  of  a 
woman  of  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  who  has 
not  been  outside  of  its  walls  for  four  month?. 
She  is  a  perfect  opium  fiend  and  cannot  live  with- 
out it." 

He  led  the  way  through  a  dark  hall,  and,  after 
turning  to  the  right,  they  found  themselves  in  a 
long  tunnel,  after  traversing  which,  they  arrived 
at  the  foot  of  a  dangerous-looking  staircase.  As 
they  ascended,  the  boards,  owing  to  age,  creaked 
with  the  weight  of  the  sightseers.  In  answer  to 
their  knock,  a  young  and  rather  refined-looking 
girl  admitted  them. 

She  was  attired  in  a  loose-fitting  garment,  and 
did  not  show  the  effects  of  her  horrible  cravings 


98  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


as  much  as  might  have  been  expected.  Upon  her 
couch  stood  a  lighted  lamp  of  sweet  oil  and  several 
Chinese  nuts  filled  with  a  substance  resembling 
tar,  which  the  guide  said  was  opium. 

The  girl  unconstrainedly  lay  down  upon  the 
couch,  and,  with  a  long  piece  of  steel,  shaped 
something  like  a  hatpin,  took  a  small  portion  of 
opium,  about  twice  the  size  of  a  cherry  pit,  out 
of  the  nut  shell.  This,  with  the  aid  of  the  steel, 
she  held  over  the  flame  of  the  lamp,  continually 
turning  the  pill  so  that  the  heat  might  touch 
every  part  of  it,  the  object  being,  the  guide  ex- 
plained, to  extract  the  poison  from  the  opium. 
After  she  had  treated  the  pellet  thus  for  a  few 
moments,  she  picked  up  a  pipe,  about  as  long  as 
an  ordinary  flute,  with  twice  its  circumference,  in 
the  centre  of  which  was  a  slight  elevation,  which 
they  remarked  looked  like  a  miniature  pilot-house. 
This  elevation  is  called  the  head  of  the  pipe,  and 
in  its  centre  is  an  opening,  which  continues 
through  the  interior  to  the  mouth-piece. 

The  woman  now  began  to  rub  the  opium  against 
the  polished  top  of  the  headpiece,  which  Mr.  Hogan 
explained  was  an  additional  precaution  for  the 
removal  of  the  poisonous  matter.  Then,  placing 
the  opium  at  the  hole  in  the  pipe  and  holding  the 
latter  in  one  hand  and  the  steel  in  the  other,  she 
laid  on  her  side,  keeping  the  pipe  in  such  a  posi- 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  99 


tion  that  the  opium  was  acted  upon  by  the  flame, 
enabling  her  to  enhale  its  vapors,  and  causing  white 
smoke  to  issue  from  her  mouth.  In  a  few  min- 
utes, the  pill  had  spluttered  itself  out,  without  ap- 
parently having  affected  the  smoker  in  the  least, 
for  she  now  unconcernedly  unscrewed  the  head  of 
the  pipe  and  knocked  out  the  ashes.  She  repeated 
this  performance  twice  more,  without  being  any 
more  affected  than  at  first.  While  the  woman  re- 
mained so  occupied,  Mr.  Hogan  whispered  to  the 
visitors : 

"She  has  become  so  habituated  to  the  drug, 
that  it  no  longer  affects  her  in  the  usual  manner. 
She  simply  absorbs  it.  She  smokes  many  of  those 
pellets  every  day,  and  each  contains  a  large  amount 
of  opium.  But  look  at  her  e}res,  the  pupils  are 
enlarged  to  almost  twice  their  normal  size,  and  the 
eyes  have  a  watery  appearance,  the  drug  invariably 
producing  those  effects.  The  woman  obtains  the 
opium  with  the  money  given  her  by  slumming 
parties,  which  are  generally  quite  liberal  with 
her,  as  they  know  should  she  be  unable  at  this 
late  stage  to  procure  the  drug,  she  would  lose  her 
reason." 

The  party  now  left  the  room  to  enter  another 
and  larger  one  filled  with  smokers  of  both  sexes, 
mostly  Chinese,  but  many  of  the  women  and  some 
of  the  men  were  white.    The  smokers  were  lying 


100  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


in  bunks,  placed  along  the  side  of  the  walls,  and 
were  in  various  stages  of  coma.  These  bunks — the 
regular  Chinese  bed — consist  of  a  long  board  cov- 
ered with  straw  matting,  but  the  occupants  seem 
as  comfortable  as  persons  on  the  downiest  couches. 

"What  a  terrible  picture  of  depravity/'  said 
Helen.  "It  is  too  dreadful  to  think  that  men  and 
women  can  become  such  slaves  to  so  pernicious  a 
habit." 

"That  is  true/'  said  the  guide,  "but  still  worse 
to  know  that  some  of  them,  more  especially  the 
white  people,  took  their  first  straw  out  of  mere 
curiosity,  and,  finding  the  sensation  agreeable, 
took  a  few  more  pulls,  came  again,  and  ended  in 
the  lamentable  condition  in  which  you  now  see 
them." 

Chinese  attendants  were  in  readiness  to  prepare 
the  pipes  for  the  uninitiated,  while  the  habitues 
boiled  their  own  pills. 

"Come  to  the  other  end  of  the  room,  and  I 
will  show  you  the  worst  case  of  all.  Look  at  the 
ceiling,  you  see  it  is  of  wood,  which  is  simply 
the  floor  of  the  garret  above,  about  four  feet  in 
height,  where  the  unfortunates  sleep  for  hours  at 
a  time.  Now  that  you  have  reached  the  end  of  it, 
you  can  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  man  in  the  first 
bunk  up  there — the  garret  is  reached  by  a  ladder." 

Curiosity  impressed  the  female  members  of  the 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  101 


party  to  demand  a  look  at  these  "worst  cases." 
All,  therefore,  pressed  their  way  up  the  ladder  to 
take  a  glimpse  at  the  human  wreck  deposited  in 
the  different  bunks. 

Simultaneously,  Harding  and  Marian  discov- 
ered an  individual,  who  lay  apparently  in  a  deep 
stupor  in  one  of  the  nearest  bunks.  Jack  was 
about  to  exclaim  "Jules  Latimer !"  when,  turning, 
he  beheld  the  eyes  of  Marian  Heath  riveted  upon 
the  individual.  Her  face  was  blanched  and  her 
eyes  appeared  to  glitter  strangely  in  the  dusky 
light,  but  a  minute  later  her  nerve  returned  and 
she  said  to  Helen  with  apparent  gaiety : 

"Let  us  go;  this  place  is  enough  to  give  one  a 
fit  of  the  blues !" 

As  the  two  men  followed  the  others  down  the 
ladder,  Jack  wondered  what  the  mysterious  tie 
could  be  that  bound  the  fair  Marian  to  the  unfor- 
tunate Latimer,  or  Despard. 

"And  now,  how  would  you  like  to  taste  a  Chin- 
ese meal  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Hogan. 

"I  must  confess/'  replied  Marian,  rather  du- 
biously, "at  the  present  moment,  the  idea  is  not 
an  agreeable  one.  The  scenes  we  have  just  wit- 
nessed, together  with  the  atmosphere  and  odor, 
are  not  conducive  to  an  overwhelming  appetite, 
but,  as  we  want  to  see  and  know  even-thing  there 
is  to  be  learned,  we  will  make  the  attempt." 


102  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


The  guide  conducted  them  to  a  Chinese  restau- 
rant, "the  swellest,"  as  he  said,  and  they  were  soon 
seated.  There  were  a  number  of  Chinamen,  as 
as  well  as  several  Americans  in  the  place,  and  all 
seemed  to  enjoy  the  peculiar  food  set  before  them, 
especially  the  Celestials. 

Approaching  the  table  at  which  the  party  was 
seated,  an  attendant,  bowing  a  welcome,  placed 
tissue-paper  napkins  and  menus  before  them. 
Upon  opening  the  latter,  such  delicacies  as 
bird's  nest  pudding,  shark's  fins,  etc.,  stared  the 
diners  in  the  eye. 

"Guess  you  don't  know  what  to  order,"  said  the 
guide.    "Try  chicken  chop  suey." 

"And  what  is  that?"  inquired  Marian,  laugh- 
ingly. 

"It's  a  combination,  one  might  say,  of  hashed 
chicken,  pork,  celery,  onions,  Chinese  herbs  and 
vegetables,  and  is  the  dish  most  in  favor  by  slum- 
ming parties." 

"I  have  tasted  it,"  said  St.  J ohn,  "and  although 
personally  not  favorably  impressed  by  it,  we  might 
as  well  try  that  as  anything.  You'll  have  to  taste 
their  rice,  too,"  he  continued,  "for  that  I'll  war- 
rant will  be  better  than  any  you  have  ever  eaten." 

In  accordance  with  these  recommendations,  they 
ordered  the  above  mentioned  dishes,  supplemented 
by  a  pot  of  tea,  after  which  they  turned  their  at- 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  103 


tention  to  other  matters  immediately  under  their 
observation.  The  first  thing  they  noticed  was  the 
absence  of  tablecloths  and  also  the  very  peculiar 
manner  in  which  the  Chinese  took  their  food. 
One,  seated  at  an  adjoining  table,  was  regaling 
himself  with  rice,  by  holding  the  bowl  containing 
it  very  near  his  mouth,  with  one  hand,  with  the 
other  he  diligently  shoveled  in  the  rice  with  the 
chop-sticks. 

"Isn't  that  horrid  ?"  cried  Marian. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Hogan,  "it  does  not  seem  very 
elegant,  but,  as  the  chop-sticks  are  their  only  table 
utensils  for  eating,  they  cannot  very  well  manage 
otherwise." 

The  waiter  finally  appeared,  carrying  the  chop 
suey,  with  also  a  spiced  sauce,  somewhat  resem- 
bling Worcestershire,  and,  after  some  small  plates 
had  been  placed  before  them,  the  girls  began  to 
eat,  though  rather  gingerly. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Hogan.  "There's 
nothing  in  the  food  that  can  possibly  harm  you." 

After  a  little,  the  waiter  again  appeared,  and, 
placing  dainty  cups  before  them,  poured  out  the 
tea. 

"He  has  forgotten  the  milk  and  sugar,"  said 
Helen.    "I  would  like  them  for  my  tea." 

"The  Chinese  never  take  either  with  theirs,  as 
they  think  the  purity  of  the  tea  would  be  impaired 


104  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


by  these  ingredients.  Try  it  and  I  do  not  think 
you  will  find  the  taste  at  all  disagreeable/' 

"But  he  surely  has  forgotten  bread,  butter  and 
water/'  said  Marian. 

"No,  you  will  have  to  do  without  them  here, 
as  the  Chinese  never  serve  them  with  meals/' 

"This  certainly  seems  to  be  an  incomplete  ar- 
rangement/' said  Marian,  who,  like  almost  all 
Americans,  had  been  accustomed  to  eat  bread  with 
every  article  of  food  except  pastry. 

"We  must  abide  by  the  customs  of  the  people 
with  whom  we  are  eating/'  said  J ack,  "and  I  think 
we  will  live  through  it." 

"Chop  suey  is  really  not  so  bad,"  said  Helen, 
"but  I  have  eaten  other  things  I  prefer,"  she  ad- 
ded, smiling. 

"Now,  try  your  rice,  girls,"  said  St.  John.  "It 
is  really  very  fine."  And  each,  thinking  that  this 
dish  at  least  was  prepared  in  the  manner  to  which 
they  were  accustomed,  took  a  mouthful  of  it  with- 
out hesitation. 

"Goodness!"  exclaimed  Marian.  "Is  this  rice 
or  cotton?  It  is  so  dry,  I  can  hardly  swrallow  it. 
I  guess  ril  pass  the  rest  of  it.  It  is  scarcely  fair, 
Mr.  St.  John,  to  play  such  a  trick  on  unsuspecting 
girls,"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 

"I  didn't  mean  it  as  such,"  said  St.  John,  laugh- 
ing.   "I  really  like  it  better  than  ours  at  home." 


An  Experience  in  Chinatown.  105 


Marian  shook  her  head  in  protest,  while  Jack 
said :  "I  do  not  want  to  hurry  you,  but  it  is  rather 
late,  and  I  propose  our  going  home." 

After  the  gentlemen  had  taken  the  guide  aside 
and  liberally  compensated  him  for  his  services, 
they  bade  him  good-night,  and,  entering  their 
carriages  were  soon  at  their  respective  abodes,  all 
heartily  agreeing  that  they  had  spent  a  most  en- 
joyable evening. 


106  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


CHAPTEE  X. 
a  cad's  courtship. 

To  those  who  imagine  that,  in  the  great  Ameri- 
can republic,  social  distinctions  are  merely  a  prop- 
er barrier,  protecting  the  morally  elect  and  finan- 
cially successful  from  the  depredations  of  their 
more  poorly  equipped  brethren,  or  the  undesirable 
presumption  of  the  "scum  of  Europe,"  which  has 
been  allowed  to  deport  itself  on  these  shores,  the 
character  of  a  being  like  Clifford  St.  John  will 
appear  an  anomaly. 

To  those  who  know  the  calibre  of  the  majority 
of  the  better-class  residents  of  the  United  States, 
the  idea  that  the  euphonious  phrase  "Liberty, 
equality,  fraternity"  means  anything  more  than  a 
far-fetched  sentiment  would,  of  course,  appear 
ridiculous. 

The  character  of  St.  John  was  in  no  way  an 
anomaly,  for  there  are  thousands  of  his  type  to  be 
found  scattered  throughout  this  country  who  are 
the  offshoot  of  families  just  like  the  St.  Johns — 
wealthy  and  cultivated  people,  who  find,  in  raising 


A  Cad's  Courtship.  107 


class-distinctions,  the  only  satisfaction  to  be  got- 
ten out  of  their  artificial  lives. 

As  Clifford  St.  John  sat  at  the  breakfast  table, 
on  the  morning  following  his  visit  to  Chinatown, 
his  mother  suddenly  inquired  who  the  young  lady 
was  with  whom  she  had  seen  him  at  the  opera  the 
previous  evening. 

"Oh,  that  is  a  particular  friend  of  mine.  Didn't 
you  admire  her  splendid  style  ?"  replied  St.  John 
complacently,  as  he  slipped  down  a  piece  of  but- 
tered toast  and  adjusted  his  napkin  more  pre- 
cisely. 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  about  the  young  woman's 
style/'  replied  Mrs.  St.  J ohn,  decisively.  "A  f rienci 
of  mine  who  knows  the  Williams  family,  tells  me 
that  she  is  stopping  with  them,  and,  by  the  way, 
she  said  you  attended  a  reception  at  her  house. 
I  am  informed  that  they  are  far  beneath  us  so- 
cially, and  therefore  desire  you  to  discontinue  your 
visits  at  once  and  also  your  attentions  to  the  young 
lady,  as  you  ought  not  to  associate  with  those  not 
in  your  set,  and  more  especially  not  to  be  seen 
in  public  with  them.  Furthermore,  as  you  know, 
I  suffer  with  insomnia,  and  consequently  was 
awake  and  heard  you  come  in  at  three  o'clock  this 
morning,  which  does  not  speak  well  for  the  com- 
pany you  were  in  until  such  an  unearthly  hour." 

Clifford,  who  had  no  desire  to  relate  the  expe- 


108  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


riences  of  the  previous  evening,  as  he  knew  his 
family  viewed  these  matters  in  rather  an  old-fash- 
ioned light,  prudently  remained  silent,  which 
seemed  to  further  incense  his  mother.  His  sister, 
too,  had  entered  the  room  before  Mrs.  St.  John 
had  ceased  speaking,  and  began  harping  on  the 
same  subject,  remarking  that  it  was  hard  to  have  a 
brother  who  cared  so  little  for  their  respected 
name,  as  to  be  seen  in  public  with  a  woman  of 
whom  people  knew  little  or  nothing. 

At  this,  Clifford  flew  into  a  violent  passion,  re- 
torting that  he  was  old  enough  to  attend  to  his 
own  affairs,  social  or  otherwise,  and  did  not  feel 
it  incumbent  upon  him  to  ask  permission  of  any- 
body, when  he  felt  inclined  to  escort  a  young  lady 
to  a  place  of  amusement.  This  reply  was  produc- 
tive of  a  greater  rumpus,  which  was  at  length 
brought  to  a  close,  by  the  voice  of  the  elder  St. 
John  shouting  from  above,  that  if  Clifford  did  not 
discontinue  his  insolence,  "he  would  come  down 
and  break  his  d —  neck." 

Although  not  exactly  the  style  of  speech  one 
would  look  for  in  "our  set,"  it  had  the  effect  of 
subduing  the  ladies,  as  they  knew  by  sad  experience 
that  there  would  be  an  exceedingly  lively  half  hour 
if  the  head  of  the  house  should  come  down,  as  he 
was  extremely  hot-tempered  and  very  apt  to  talk 
and  act,  much  as  do  some  in  a  lower  walk  of  life. 


A  Cad's  Courtship.  109 


(  lifford,  however,  did  not  retract  or  apologize, 
and,  the  ladies  seeing  a  rather  unusually  deter- 
mined look  upon  his  face,  thought  "discretion  the 
better  part  of  valor"  and  decided  to  drop  the  sub- 
ject temporarily. 

This  quarrel  did  not  in  the  least  deter  Clifford 
in  his  pursuit  of  Marian.  On  the  contrary,  it  only 
served  to  strengthen  his  resolution,  and,  as  he 
was  financially  independent  of  his  father,  he  de- 
cided to  propose  marriage  at  once. 

Clifford  St.  John  was  a  long  dream  of  undis- 
turbed self-indulgence.  His  placid  conceit  and 
self-satisfaction  sat  upon  his  stumpy  figure  and 
almost  imbecile  countenance  with  an  air  of  ex- 
treme fitness.  To  him  the  feelings  of  a  mother 
or  sister  were  of  little  consequence  beside  the  pur- 
suit of  his  own  fleeting  pleasures,  and,  as  he  felt 
himself  to  be  violently  in  love  with  Miss  Heath, 
he  determined  upon  a  tour  de  force  in  the  pursuit 
of  his  amour. 

Of  course,  the  young  man  had  little  doubt  as 
to  the  outcome  of  his  suit,  for,  although  he  could 
discern  signs  that  others  were  working  in  the  same 
direction,  were  not  the  St.  Johns  people  with  whom 
a  connection  could  not  be  ignored,  and  was  he, 
the  traveled  and  cultured  young  aristocrat,  likely 
to  be  "turned  down"  for  plebeian  rivals? 


110 


A  Serpent's  Feast. 


At  the  same  time,  St.  John  decided  to  consult 
his  valet  on  the  situation. 

The  standard  of  the  valet's  intelligence  was 
about  on  a  par  with  that  of  his  master,  and  con- 
sequently there  was  possible  a  complete  interchange 
of  thought  between  them,  a  happy  condition  of 
things,  which  was  often  found  by  St.  John  to  be 
of  the  greatest  convenience  to  himself. 

To  John  Parsons,  his  English  valet,  St.  John 
had  already  confided  the  fact  of  his  intense  ad- 
miration for  Miss  Heath.  The  valet  was  a  typi- 
cal lackey  and  a  person  well  adapted  to  the  pur- 
poses for  which  St.  John  used  him.  The  young 
aristocrat  devoted  the  major  part  of  his  time  to 
making  love  to  actresses  and  such  other  women  as 
pleased  his  fancy,  or  with  whom  he  could  manage 
to  get  in  contact.  As  a  go-between  in  these 
amours,  it  is  true  that  Parsons  had  been  unable  to 
achieve  much  success  for  his  master,,  but  he  had 
not  up  to  the  present  time  met  with  any  such 
severe  contretemps  as  to  cause  him  to  lose  his  con- 
fidence. 

After  listening  to  an  enthusiastic  recital  by  St. 
John  of  Miss  Heath's  manifold  charms  and  graces, 
Parsons  had  seen  at  once  that  he  would  soon  be 
called  upon  to  act  the  role  of  Cupid's  messenger 
again  and  become  the  daily  bearer  of  flowers,  bil- 
let doux,  or  other  emblems  of  an  absorbing  passion. 


A  Cad's  Courtship.  Ill 


He  also  commenced  to  figure  upon  what  chances 
he  might  have  with  the  young  lady's  maid,  a  per- 
sonage with  whom  he  would  doubtless  be  com- 
pelled to  intrigue  10  learn  for  his  master  the  real 
state  of  Miss  Heath's  feelings  towards  him,  such 
being  the  usual  tactics  pursued  by  St.  John,  when 
he  was  contemplating  a  new  conquest.  The  valet 
was  therefore  not  at  all  surprised  to  be  summoned 
on  this  particular  morning,  after  his  master  had 
left  the  breakfast  table,  and  addressed  in  the  fol- 
lowing strain : 

"Parsons,  you  have  heard  me  speak  of  Miss 
Heath  on  several  occasions:  it  will  therefore  not 
surprise  you  to  hear  that  I  intend  making  the 
young  lady  my  wife.  This  is  no  joking  matter, 
as  you  may  suppose,  having  heard  me  express  ad> 
miration  for  different  young  ladies  at  different 
times, — but  my  whole  future  happiness  depends 
upon  this.  I  therefore  want  you  to  make  an  ef- 
fort to  discover  her  true  sentiments  regarding  me. 
Purchase  a  handsome  bouquet  of  roses  this  after- 
noon, attach  my  card,  take  them  to  the  house  your- 
self, hand  them  to  the  maid  at  the  door,  request- 
ing her  to  give  them  to  Miss  Heath.  Try  to  gain 
the  good  will  of  the  servant  by  money  or  other- 
wise, so  that  through  her  you  may  obtain  the  de- 
sired information.  I  know  that  it  is  unnecessary 
to  give  you  these  minute  instructions,  owing  to 


112 


A  Serpent's  Feast. 


the  proofs  you  have  given  me  in  the  past  as  to 
your  accomplishments  in  this  line,  but  for  the  first 
time,  I  feel  extremely  nervous  about  the  result." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  Parsons.  "I  understand 
exactly  what  you  wish  me  to  do,  sir,  and  am  sure 
I  will  have  no  difficulty  in  carrying  out  your 
wishes;  but  where  shall  I  report  progress  to  you, 
sir?" 

"I  will  await  you  in  my  den  at  home." 

According  to  instructions,  Parsons  purchased 
a  magnificent  bunch  of  American  Beauty  roses  and 
then  proceeded  to  carry  them  to  the  Williams' 
residence. 

The  maid  answered  his  ring,  and,  upon  inquir- 
ing for  Miss  Heath,  she  informed  him  that  the 
young  lady  had  gone  out.  He  requested  her  to 
"kindly  give  the  flowers  to  Miss  Heath  upon  her 
return"  and,  handing  them  to  her,  turned  as  if  to 
go,  but  suddenly  retraced  his  steps,  saying: 

"I  have  heard  that  Miss  Heath  is  very  pretty, 
is  that  so  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  the  maid  replied,  simply.  "Miss 
Marian  is  both  very  pretty  and  very  popular." 

"Is  she  as  good-looking  as  you  are?"  asked  the 
lackey,  with  a  cockney  drawl,  "for  if  she  is,  she 
certainly  must  be  a  stunner." 

"Oh,  what  a  jollier  you  are,"  answered  the  girl, 
grinning  and  giggling,  but  none  the  less  pleased, 


A  Cad's  Courtship.  113 


and  added  coyly,  "you  don't  expect  me  to  believe 
anything  you  say  after  that  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  see  why/'  said  Parsons,  "the  look- 
ing-glass does  not  lie,  and  I  guess  you  have  seen 
your  reflection  there  occasionally ;  but,  by  the  way," 
and  the  lackey  slipped  a  bill  into  her  hand,  "have 
you  ever  heard  Miss  Heath  mention  Mr.  St. 
John?" 

"Oh,  yes,  several  times;  Miss  Heath  remarked 
that  he  was  very  attentive  to  her." 

"But  does  Miss  Heath  seem  to  have  a  preference 
for  any  one  among  her  numerous  admirers  ?  Per- 
haps she  has  spoken  on  this  matter  to  some  friend 
or  relative,  which  conversation  you  might  have 
accidentally  overheard,"  and  the  smirking  Par- 
sons gave  the  maid  a  sly  jab. 

"Can't  say  that  I  have,  besides  I  do  not  make 
my  mistress'  business  mine,"  replied  the  girl,  be- 
ginning to  look  suspicious. 

"Oh,  well,  my  dear  girl,"  answered  Parsons, 
suavely,  "don't  let  us  quarrel.  I  have  taken  a 
strong  fancy  to  you  and  would  like  to  become  fast 
friends  with  you  in  future.  My  master  is  awfully 
liberal  and  there  is  no  reason  why  some  of  his 
coin  should  not  find  its  way  into  your  pocket.  Be- 
sides, something  serious  may  take  place  between  my 
master  and  Miss  Heath,  so  it  will  certainly  be  to 
your  advantage  to  supply  me  with  a  little  in- 


114 


A  Serpent's  Feast. 


formation,  if  you  can."  Then  after  a  pause,  he 
asked  insinuatingly:  "Are  you  sure  there  is  noth- 
ing you  can  tell  me?" 

"Nothing  at  all,"  she  answered. 

"Promise  me  one  thing,  then,"  said  Parsons, 
"do  not  mention  a  word  of  this  conversation  to 
anybody." 

"I  certainly  shall  not,  and  I  am  not  really  angry 
at  you.  I  only  pretended  to  be  so,  and  if  I  can  let 
you  into  an  interesting  secret  at  any  time,  you 
can  depend  upon  my  doing  it." 

Bidding  her  good-bye,  Parsons  hurried  home  to 
impart  this  very  meagre  intelligence  to  his  mas- 
ter The  latter,  on  hearing  Parson's  step  upon 
the  stairs,  impatiently  went  out  into  the  hall  to 
meet  him,  querying: 

"What  news  ?" 

"Nothing  much,  sir,"  answered  Parsons,  "but 
what  little  there  is  seems  satisfactory  enough. 
It  appears  that  Miss  Heath  does  not  discuss  her 
affairs  downstairs,  and  the  servants  know  little 
about  them." 

He  then  related  all  that  had  transpired. 

Naturally,  Clifford  was  not  satisfied,  as  he  had 
received  but  little  information.  He  swore  that 
the  suspense  was  killing  him,  and  forthwith  de- 
cided to  bring  the  matter  to  a  climax  the  fol- 
lowing evening  at  the  musicale. 


The  Cynic  in  Love.  115 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

THE  CYNIC  IN  LOVE. 

Harry  Taylor  had  not  met  Marian  since  the 
revelation  she  had  made  to  him  of  her  opinions, 
on  the  roof  garden.  It  was  not  because  he  had 
felt  any  lack  of  desire  for  her  company,  but  be- 
cause he  feared  to  tire  her  with  too  much  of 
his  own,  and  thus  commit  that  fatal  fault  of  most 
lovers,  the  making  of  oneself  stale. 

To  Harry  Taylor  had  come  the  first  love  of  his 
manhood,  a  strong,  all-absorbing  passion,  which 
those  who  looked  upon  his  muscular  build  and  de- 
termined countenance  could  well  have  understood. 

It  is  true  that  he  had  commenced  to  toy  with 
the  fire  which  might  be  destined  to  scorch  him, 
to  pique  a  very  trifling  curiosity  and  to  kill  a  few 
idle  moments  at  a  pleasant  pastime.  Xo  one  could 
have  felt  more  indifferent  to  Marian  at  first  than 
he  had  done,  especially  as  there  was  more  than  a 
suspicion  in  his  mind  that  between  her  and  Jules 
Latimer  some  peculiar  tie  existed. 


116 


A  Serpent's  Feast. 


He  had  divined  correctly,  that  his  friend,  Jack 
Harding,  was  pursuing  the  same  trail  as  himself, 
but  the  fact  that  he  might  embitter  his  friend's 
happiness  had  not  a  particle  of  significance  with 
him  now.  Love  is  the  most  selfish  of  sports,  for  it 
is  a  game  at  which  the  best  or  luckiest  player 
wins,  and,  as  at  the  card  table,  one's  best  friend 
must  be  sacrified  for  the  passion  of  the  play. 

It  is  in  just  such  men  as  Harry  Taylor  that  love 
strikes  the  strongest  note,  effects  the  strangest 
change.  The  erstwhile  cynic  and  Bohemian,  the 
man  whose  heart  had  always  throbbed  to  market 
reports  before,  was  completely  transformed  by  the 
new  influence  which  had  come  over  him.  The 
careless  college  man  and  business  student,  who  had 
flirted  and  jilted  perhaps  twenty  love-sick  girls 
in  his  time,  was  now  caught  in  the  current  of 
love's  temptuous  stream,  and,  unfortunately  for 
lack  of  training,  he  was  proving  a  poor  swimmer. 

Finally,  after  having  stayed  away  three  days, 
Harry  made  up  his  mind  to  call  on  Miss  Heath 
and  even  went  to  the  trouble  of  dressing  very  care- 
fully before  presenting  himself  at  the  Williams' 
drawing-room. 

Miss  Heath,  as  it  happened,  was  at  home;  her 
visit  to  Chinatown,  the  previous  evening,  having 
failed,  notwithstanding  its  one  sinister  episode,  to 
break  that  sprightly  charm  and  piquancy  which, 


The  Cynic  in  Love. 


117 


with  beauty  and  grace,  constituted  her  great  at- 
tractiveness. 

She  greeted  Harry  with  a  pleased  smile  and  there 
was  an  air  of  sincerity  in  her  welcome,  which 
seemed  to  disclose  a  more  than  ordinary  interest  in 
her  caller.  All  this  was  particularly  pleasing  to 
the  caller  himself.  Had  he  been  a  witness  to  the 
proceedings  on  the  previous  evening  and  seen  the 
evident  cut  which  his  friend  Harding  had  given 
Marian,  by  his  attentions  to  Miss  Van  Duyne,  he 
might  have  divined  that  to  have  been  at  the  bot- 
tom of  Miss  Heath's  present  cordiality.  Of  that 
point,  however,  he  was  ignorant,  and  even  had  he 
made  the  conjecture,  it  is  possible  that  he  might 
have  been  in  error.  The  situation  would  only  have 
been  rendered  more  puzzling  by  the  encouragement 
Marian  had,  on  that  occasion,  seemed  to  be  giving 
to  Clifford  St.  John. 

He  who  can  precisely  sound  the  depths  of  wo- 
man's nature  has  not  yet  been  born,  according  to 
the  prophets.  She  is  born  to  love  and  hate,  to 
exact  and  to  endure,  without  any  earthly  reason 
than  that  furnished  by  her  own  impetuous  notions. 
She  is  to  the  social  economy  what  the  rushing  cy- 
clone, the  caressing  zephyr  or  the  mystic  moon- 
light are  to  the  terrestrial.  We  know  not  whence 
their  potency  comes,  or  how  their  influence  works; 


118  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


we  only  feel  and  enjoy,  or  dread,  but  cannot 
avoid. 

One  of  the  first  things  that  caught  the  quick 
eye  of  Marian  was  that  Harry  Taylor  seemed  less 
self-possessed  than  usual. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you  this  evening,  mon 
cher?"  she  asked,  coquettishly.  "You  do  not 
seem  in  good  spirits.  Does  my  company  bore 
you?" 

Harry's  dark  eyes  flashed  the  answer  that  his 
lagging  tongue  so  poorly  conveyed,  replying  al- 
most tragically : 

"Miss  Heath,  when  that  time  comes,  I  think  I 
shall  have  become  another  person." 

Then  he  added  after  a  slight  pause,  speaking 
very  tenderly:  "Have  you  never  listened  to  music 
which  made  you  feel  quiet  and  almost  sad,  al- 
though it  gave  you  inexpressible  delight?  You 
have  never  loved — had  you  done  so,  you  would  un- 
derstand." 

The  coquette  was  silenced,  almost  awed  by  this 
seriousness  on  the  part  of  one  who  had  hitherto 
affected  to  treat  all  such  matters  lightly.  She 
could  see  that  some  great  change  had  come  over 
her  visitor  ^and  slowly  the  thought  dawned  upon 
her  brain,  that  he  was  in  love  with  herself.  Her 
manner  at  once  became  more  subdued. 

From  Jack  Harding,  as  from  Clifford  St.  John, 


The  Cynic  in  Love. 


119 


such  suggestions  would  not  have  produced  the 
effect  upon  her  that  they  did  coming  from  Harry 
Taylor.  Marian  already  felt  a  thrill  vibrating 
through  her  being,  as  if  some  hidden  chord  had 
been  touched,  which  stirred  her  inmost  nature. 

But  she  made  a  master  effort  to  hide  this  feel- 
ing, for  she  saw  beyond  the  point  that  this  young 
man  saw.  Other  figures  and  scenes,  than  the  ones 
now  in  her  view,  flitted  between  herself  and  the 
sincere,  earnest  face  of  her  visitor.  She  saw  an 
episode  in  a  cab  between  herself  and  this  man's 
friend,  and  which  had  occurred  but  a  few  nights 
previous.  She  saw  a  shrunken,  pallid  face,  in  the 
bunk  of  the  opium  den,  "one  of  the  worst  cases," 
that  had  horrified  her  vision  only  the  night  before. 
It  seemed  as  if  Fate  were  pursuing  her  relentlessly 
now,  and  it  was  not  strange  that  the  young  wo- 
man remained  silent  and  self-absorbed  for  a  few 
seconds. 

"I  hope  that  my  words  have  not  caused  you  any 
pain?"  said  Harry,  pleasantly,  and  with  no  trace 
of  his  former  audacity  or  cynicism. 

"Indeed,  no.  Why  should  they?  If  one  is  in 
love,  they  should  have  sympathy.  God  pity  them 
though,  for  love  is  a  strange  phantasy.  It  either 
leads  to  paradise  or  hell.  There  is  no  middle 
course,  when  it  seizes  those  who  know  how  to  love 
and  how  to  feel." 


120  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


It  was  now  Harry's  place  to  look  surprised. 
Here  was  another  phase  of  the  ever-changing  char- 
acter of  this  strange  and  fascinating  woman.  No 
one  could  have  spoken  such  words,  who  had  not 
felt  the  thrall  of  love,  or  at  least  was  even  now 
under  its  developing  spell. 

Quick  as  a  flash,  Harry's  mind  reverted  to  the 
Latimer  incident.  But  his  vanity  came  to  his 
rescue  there.  A  woman  of  Marian's  type  could 
never  have  loved  such  a  man  as  that.  Had  there 
been  some  other,  deeper  and  more  crucial  experi- 
ence in  her  life — some  early  heart  episode?  To 
look  at  the  innocent,  even  girlish  lines  of  that 
pink  face  belied  the  suspicion. 

"Was  she  then  only  now  reaching  that  vortex, 
where  she  found  herself  in  love  with  one  although 
tied  to  some  other  by  chains  which  condemned  her 
soul  to  the  torture  of  a  hopeless  passion  ? 

"Surely  no  woman  would  have  spoken  to  a  man, 
as  she  just  had  done,  unless  he  formed  one  actor 
in  that  tragedy  which  was  passing  in  her  soul!" 

The  thought  gave  him  hope.  "Even  if  there 
were  ties,  could  not  they  be  set  aside  ?  Were  not 
such  things  being  done  every  day  to  suit  the  con- 
venience of  hearts  that  had  found  stronger  affilia- 
tions ?  Had  a  foreshadowing  of  this  situation,  this 
crisis,  inspired  the  strange  current  of  thought  to 
which  Marian  had  given  expression  on  the  roof 


The  Cynic  in  Love. 


121 


garden  ?  The  intuitions  of  a  woman  are  very  much 
keener  than  those  of  a  man.  Had  she  already  di- 
vined his  love  for  her  before  speaking  as  she  had 
done,  and  had  she  spoken  as  she  had  to  see  what  he 
would  say  to  such  views — to  feel,  as  it  were,  if  his 
heart  could  stand  such  a  shock  as  the  revelations 
she  might  have  to  make,  would  come  to  him? 
If  so,  she  must  have  learned  to  love  him  already — 
and  " 

The  young  man's  thought  stopped  there.  He 
lifted  his  eyes  to  hers.  Whatever  doubt  he  might 
have  felt  for  an  instant,  it  was  dispelled.  Never 
mind  what  might  have  happened,  he  would  take 
her  and  shield  her  from  even7  storm  and  stress 
of  the  world. 

"Mr.  Taylor,  I  must  object.  This  is  becoming 
simply  a  Quaker's  meeting,  and  I  don't  enjoy  it 
at  all.  Please  be  yourself,  or  I  shall  go  to  the 
piano." 

The  words,  spoken  in  her  old,  bantering  tones, 
dissipated  his  dreams  and  brought  back  all  the 
prosaic  surroundings  of  every-day  life. 

"I  think  HI  do  a  little  of  that  kind  of  thing 
myself,"  answered  Harry.  "I  believe  I  picked  up 
one  of  those  ragtime  ditties  they  played  on  the  roof 
garden  the  other  night.  Ill  try  at  any  rate.  It 
had  a  peculiarly  fascinating  jingle,"  and,  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word,  Harry  went  to  the  piano, 


122  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


with  all  his  old-time  spirit,  and  commenced  to 

hammer  the  keys. 

The  ragtime  ditty  was  followed  by  another, 
equally  riotous,  meaningless,  musicless  jingling, 
but  they  cleared  the  air  of  sentiment  and  swept 
back,  at  least  for  awhile,  what  seemed  at  one 
time  like  the  oncoming  flood  of  a  cloudburst  of 
passion. 

Ah,  Fate !  By  what  trivial  tricks  doth  thou 
sometimes  sweep  the  flood  of  apparent  destiny 
aside ! 

When  Harry  Taylor  left  Marian  that  evening, 
their  hearts  were  yet,  apparently,  sealed  books  to 
one  another. 


Turning  Down  a  Cad.  123 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TURNING    DOWN    A  CAD. 

Harry  Taylor  of  course  was  not  invited  to  the 
Van  Duyne  function,  as  he  did  not  possess  an 
acquaintance  with  the  family.  He  was,  therefore, 
left  to  his  own  reflections,  on  the  evening  in  ques- 
tion, and  the  distractions  offered  by  the  Knock- 
about Club,  whilst  his  rival,  Clifford  St.  John, 
escorted  the  object  of  his  devoted  thoughts  to  the 
affair. 

Upon  arriving  at  the  Van  Duyne  mansion,  Misg 
Heath  and  St.  John  found  it  brilliantly  illumi- 
nated and  filled  with  an  animated  and  exclusive 
crowd,  awaiting  with  eagerness  the  appearance  of 
the  artists,  whom  Mrs.  Van  Duyne  had  engaged 
as  entertainers. 

Jack  Harding  had  arrived  rather  late  and,  upon 
entering,  found  some  difficulty  in  paying  his  re- 
spects to  his  hostess,  as  Helen  was  almost  com- 
pletely surrounded  by  her  friends.  Seeing  a 
young  lady,  whom  he  knew,  sitting  alone  with  her 
mother,  he  advanced  and  greeted  them.  Miss 


124  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


Hathaway  seemed  pleased  to  meet  him  and,  in 
answer  to  his  queries,  the  ladies  communicated 
their  views  upon  the  merits  of  the  respective  per- 
formers. 

"Do  you  know  the  young  lady  over  there,  who 
is  about  to  leave  the  room  with  Mr.  St.  John?" 
asked  Miss  Hathaway. 

"Yes"  answered  Harding,  "that  is  Miss  Heath. 
But  why  do  you  single  her  out  ?  Is  there  anything 
unusual  about  her,  and  do  you  know  her?" 

"What  an  avalanche  of  questions,"  replied  Alice 
Hathaway,  with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "But, 
if  you'll  be  patient,  I  will  tell  you  all  about  her." 

"You  know  I  was  born  in  Buffalo,  and  I  have 
known  Marian  Heath  ever  since  childhood,  in  fact, 
we  were  intimate  friends,  confiding  all  things  to 
each  other,  until  a  few  years  ago,  when  she  did 
something  of  which  I  disapproved  so  strongly  that 
I  have  never  spoken  to  her  since." 

"You  certainly  have  aroused  in  me  a  strong  curi- 
osity," said  Jack. 

"Oh,  fie !"  laughed  Alice,  "only  women  are  sup- 
posed to  allow  their  curiosity  to  get  the  better  of 
them.  I  scarcely  think  I'll  tell  you  after  all. 
There  is  more  fun  in  holding  a  secret  that  one 
would  like  to  know." 

Jack  had  not  approved  of  the  rather  slighting 
tone  she  had  used  in  speaking  of  Marian,  and 


Turning  Down  a  Cad.  125 


now  said  gravely :  "Miss  Hathaway,  do  you  think 
it  right  to  insinuate  so  much  without  enlightening 
me  further?" 

After  a  moment's  deliberation,  the  young  wo- 
man said :  "I  will  tell  you,  on  your  solemn  promise 
not  to  divulge  one  word  to  anybody." 

To  this  Jack  unhesitatingly  agreed,  and  inclined 
his  head  toward  her  to  receive  her  information. 
What  he  heard,  seemed  to  affect  him  greatly,  for 
he  turned  very  pale  and,  at  the  conclusion  only 
said,  with  an  attempt  at  levity: 

"Thank  you  for  complying  with  my  request,  and 
I  promise  that  any  gossip  I  may  ever  have  on  hand, 
will  be  at  your  disposal." 

Seeing  Helen  more  at  leisure,  Jack  excused 
himself  to  go  to  her  and  was  greeted  with: 

"Why  have  you  neglected  me  so  long  this  even- 
ing, Jack  ?" 

"I  did  not  mean  to  do  so,"  he  responded  ear- 
nestly, "but  you  were  so  surrounded  by  your 
friends,  I  deemed  it  best  to  wait  until  the  fates 
were  more  propitious." 

"Your  excuses  are  always  so  ingenious,  Jack, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  convict  you,  but,  under- 
stand this,  I  think  we  are  intimate  enough,  or 
ought  to  be  after  all  these  years,  for  me  to  frankly 
tell  you  that  I  expect  to  see  more  of  you  in  the 
future,  than  has  been  the  case  during  the  last  few 


126  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


weeks/'  To  this  sally  he  responded  satisfactorily, 
although  to  a  keen  observer  his  manner  would 
have  appeared  rather  abstracted. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Helen,  "where  are  Miss 
Heath  and  Mr.  St.  John?  I  have  not  seen  them 
in  some  time.  Why,  there  they  are  !"  she  ex- 
claimed, almost  immediately,  "coming  out  of  the 
library.  Look  at  Miss  Heath,"  she  continued  in 
some  surprise,  "Tier  face  is  flushed,  and  his,  on 
the  contrary,  is  very  pale,  while  an  air  of  dejec- 
tion is  in  his  entire  manner.  I  wonder  whether 
chey  have  quarrelled  ?" 

"I  guess  not,"  said  Jack.  "They  seem  to  be 
growing  better  and  better  friends." 

"That  proves  nothing,"  said  Helen,  "the  best 
of  friends  quarrel  occasionally,"  looking  roguishly 
at  him. 

Mrs.  Van  Duyne  now  approached,  causing  a 
change  in  the  conversation,  and  the -host  shortly 
after  joining  them,  he  and  Jack  conversed  on 
Chicago  matters  for  a  time,  after  which  the  latter 
took  his  departure  for  home. 

Here  it  is  necessary  to  revert  to  what  had  oc- 
curred between  Miss  Heath  and  St.  J ohn. 

Clifford,  who  had  been  sitting  next  to  Marian 
during  the  performance,  suggested  to  her  im- 
mediately afterwards  the  advisibility  of  taking  a 
stroll  through  the  adjoining  rooms,  away  from 


Turning  Down  a  Cad.  127 


the  crowd,  which  invitation  Marian  had  accepted. 

After  entering  the  library,  they  seated  them- 
selves on  one  of  the  settees  and  Marian  at  once 
noticed  in  her  escort  an  unusual  and  excited  agi- 
tation. For  a  few  seconds  neither  spoke,  then  he 
broke  the  silence  by  saying: 

"Marian,  what  I  am  about  to  say  may  take  you 
by  surprise,  owing  to  our  rather  recent  acquaint- 
ance, but  my  heart  is  filled  to  overflowing,  and 
I  can  no  longer  withhold  my  secret  thoughts  from 
you,  without  suffering  the  keenest  mental  anguish. 
Marian,  I  love  you,  have  loved  you  from  the  first 
moment  of  our  acquaintance  and,  although  I  dare 
not  hope  that  at  present  you  are  willing  to  en- 
trust your  future  to  my  keeping,  I  pray  that  you 
give  me  some  words  of  encouragement.  I  confess 
to  having  been  foolish  and  fickle  in  the  past,  yet 
I  swear  by  all  I  hold  sacred,  that  if  you  promise  to 
be  mine,  I  will  be  faithful  to  you  forever,  and  pro- 
tect and  cherish  you  to  the  utmost  of  my  power/' 

After  regarding  him  silently  for  a  moment, 
Marian  replied  in  a  most  icy  tone :  "Your  proposal 
has  affected  me  deeply,  but  only  with  an  ever  in- 
creasing astonishment  at  your  audacity.  This 
harsh  language  in  answer  to  your  honeyed  declara- 
tion, may  surprise  you,  but  my  contempt  for  you 
is  far  beyond  that  which  mere  words  can  express. 
How  you  could  become  so  low  as  to  send  your 


128  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


servant  to  the  house,  with  instructions  to  question 
Mrs.  Williams'  maid,  regarding  my  sentiments  to- 
ward you,  is  more  than  the  average  mind  can  com- 
prehend. If  you  had  any  idea  of  what  love  is,  on 
which  you  so  volubly  hold  forth  to  me,  you  could 
not  have  discussed  me  with  your  servant  or  mine ; 
and  now,  the  sooner  this  interview  is  closed,  the 
better  for  both.  When  I  learned  of  the  contempti- 
ble means  you  had  employed  to  further  your  in- 
terests, I  had  intended  to  remain  silent,  but,  under 
the  circumstances,  deem  it  better  to  tell  you  my 
real  opinion  of  you  and  your  conduct." 

"Oh,  Marian,"  piteously  cried  the  astonished 
and  almost  dumbfounded  Clifford,  "you  judge  me 
too  har:hly.  I  did  not  know  whether  you  cared 
for  me  and,  thinking  no  harm,  sought  in  that 
manner  to  avoid  suffering  the  humiliation  of  a 
refusal." 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  explanations 
or  remonstrances,"  responded  Marian.  "It  will 
not  help  your  cause  in  the  slightest  degree.  I  go 
to  rejoin  the  merrymakers.  For  the  sake  of  ap- 
pearances, you  had  better  accompany  me,  so  that 
none  will  suspect  that  anything  extraordinary  has 
occurred." 

Which  sensible  advice  the  disappointed  suitor 
sulkily  followed. 

The  explanation  of  Miss  Heath's  attitude  to- 


Turning  Down  a  Cad.  129 


ward  St.  John  is  simple.  Surprised,  by  a  slip 
of  the  tongue,  into  a  confession  of  what  had  tran- 
spired at  Parson's  visit  with  the  flower?.  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams' maid  had  made  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole 
matter  to  Miss  Heath  and,  as  that  young  lady 
had  already  made  up  her  mind  in  what  direction 
she  felt  her  real  feelings  drifting,  she  had  de- 
termined to  seize  the  opportunity  and  give  the  in- 
sufferable little  dude  his  conge  at  once.  Marian 
had  only  been  amusing  herself  at  his  expense  and 
had  begun  to  find  him  a  tiresome  bore,  even  be- 
fore he  committed  the  faux  pas,  which  hastened 
her  decision. 

In  spite  of  this,  however,  Marian's  pretty  head 
tossed  upon  its  pillow  that  night  more  than  it  had 
ever,  perhaps,  done  before.  Play  we  never  so 
nervy  a  game,  Fate  once  in  a  while  overtakes  and 
overwhelms  us.  We  never  know  how  near  we  are 
to  the  abyss,  until,  swaying  upon  its  brink,  we  re- 
alize the  slender  hold  that  restrains  us  from  a 
fall  into  the  cavernous  depths  whither  we  may  be 
precipitated  by  the  loosening  of  a  single  stone. 


130  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

THE  TENDERLOIN  SYMPOSIUM. 

It  was  decided  that  things  were  getting  too 
slow  around  the  Knockabout  Club  for  the  red 
corpuscles  of  that  virile  organization,  and  the  En- 
tertainment Committee  was  instructed  to  think  up 
some  novel  and  strenuous  kind  of  an  entertain- 
ment to  liven  them  up  a  little. 

That  indefatigable  body  finally  decided  that 
the  novelty  should  take  the  shape  of  a  Tenderloin 
symposium,  at  which  each  member  should  relate 
some  interesting  incident,  observed  or  experienced 
by  him  in  the  Tenderloin  district. 

"That'll  be  breezy  enough  to  keep  our  coffin- 
nails  from  rusting,"  said  Captain  De  Marville, 
when  the  Committee's  report  was  received.  Then 
every  one  started  in  to  try  and  think  of  something 
piquant  in  the  way  of  Tenderloin  experiences,  with 
which  to  regale  his  auditors  at  the  symposium. 

For  Harry  Taylor  and  Jack  Harding,  the  affair 
proved  an  agreeable  diversion  from  the  tournament 
of  love  in  which  they  were  now  so  hotly  engaged, 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  131 


and  although  they  had  not  been  long  enough  resi- 
dent in  New  York  to  have  any  experiences  of  their 
own  worth  relating,  they  were  none  the  less  in- 
terested in  hearing  those  of  the  other  members 
of  the  club. 

The  evening  for  holding  the  symposium  arrived, 
bringing  together  an  unusually  large  number  of 
members. 

After  the  meeting  had  been  called  to  order  and 
contributions  requested,  Sylvester,  the  melodra- 
matic villain,  was  first  to  respond  with  a  piece  of 
rhyme  which  he  said  was  based  upon  a  real  inci- 
dent of  Tenderloin  life,  and  whicb  he  had  entitled, 
"A  Ditty  of  the  Tenderloin." 

In  his  broad  Western  dialect,  Sylvester  then 
read: 

A  DITTY  OF  THE  TENDERLOIN. 

This  is  the  tale  of  a  man  who  waxed  fat, 
In  the  heyday  of  life  and  deservd  it  at  that; 
He  had  money  to  burn  and  he  still  wanted  more, 
He  had  houses  and  lands  and  had  good  friends 
galore. 

He  was  married  and  happy  and  still  in  his  prime, 
He  worVd  hard  and  prospered,  and  had  a  good 
time; 


132  A  Serpent's  Feast 


Respected  and  bow'd  to,  he  felt  that  the  earth 
Was  the  best  of  good  places  for  life  and  for  mirth. 

His  wife  was  a  model  of  all  that  is  good, 
The  queen  of  Ids  household,  serenely  she  stood; 
And  a  half-dozen  bright  little  angels  were  born, 
On  whom  Fortune  with  lavish  hand  emptied  her 
horn. 

It  was  prosper  and  prosper  and  prosper  still  more. 
Gift  piled  high  upon  gift  at  the  lucky  one's  door; 
No  clouds  could  draw  near;  for,  where  wealth  has 
a  hand, 

Fate  may  menace  in  vain,  with  her  sinister  wand. 

But  misfortune  may  come  in  a  lifetime  to  all, 
The  surest  foundations  may  tremble  and  fall; 
And  so  it  occurred — there  were  small  drops  at 
first, 

But  the  storm  in  full  fury  at  last  on  them  burst. 

Though  o'er  clouded  his  fate,  the  man  still  strug- 
gled on, 

For  how  could  he  lose  who  had  constantly  won? 
But  alas!    When  the  tide  of  ill  luck  starts  our 
way 

It  is  useless  to  struggle  and  hopeless  to  pray. 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  133 


Things  seenid  to  be  tloom'd  by  a  singular  curse 
And  everything  went  on  from  bad  unto  worse. 
The  man  took  to  drinking  to  bury  his  woes, 
And  when  that  once  starts  then  all  finally  goes. 

At  length  the  last  home,  a  small,  humble  abode, 
That  held  them  together,  was  lost,  when  the  load 
Of  grief,  for  the  woman,  proved  too  hard  a  blow 
And  she  went  the  way  many  unfortunates  go. 

The  children  were  seiz'd,  in  the  name  of  the  law, 
And  saw  neither  father  nor  mother  the  more. 
The  woman  sank  into  the  mire  to  her  neck, 
And  the  man  was  a  mental  and  physical  wreck. 

He  liv'd  on  the  chances  that  come  to  lost  men, 
And  once  or  twice  fell  in  the  prisoner's  pen. 
Where  she  went,  God  knows! — to  some  pestilent 
dive, 

Where  only  the  wrecks  of  our  bodies  survive. 

The  end  came  at  last  to  the  man,  who  went  in 
To  beg  for  a  solace  in  poisonous  gin; 
For  the  bartender  only  could  grimace  and  mock — 
So  he  walked  out  and  stealthily  dropped  off  the 
dock. 


134  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


After  the  handkerchiefs  had  been  wrung  out, 
the  old  politician  from  the  worst  ward  on  earth — 
the  man  who  usually  saw,  heard  and  said  nothing, 
and  whose  face  bore  the  hall-mark  of  ingrafted 
knowledge,  said: 

"I  will  tell  you  a  pathetic  story,  which  is  known 
to  but  few  around  the  precinct.  The  plot  of  the 
tragedy  is  much  the  same  as  that  which  inspired 
the  ditty,  but  the  end  is  quite  sufficient. 

"We  used  to  call  the  woman  'Flash  Kate/  and 
she  had  been  a  stunner  in  her  time.  Her  husband 
was  a  brute  and  left  her  for  another  woman — left 
her  to  take  care  of  five  little  children. 

"Somehow  or  other,  the  Sisters  got  hold  of  these 
children  one  day,  and  told  them  a  few  things  that 
are  in  the  Bible,  among  them  the  fact  that  Christ 
died  to  save  sinners.  It's  a  shame  to  bring  His 
name  into  a  story  like  this,  but  even  He  pitied  the 
Magdalen. 

"Well,  some  one  else,  some  busybody,  of  course, 
told  the  children  that  their  mother  was  a  pretty 
bad  sinner  and  the  two  things  together  puzzled 
their  little  minds  tremendously.  They  were  all 
little  tots  and,  when  their  mother  was  out  one 
evening  at  the  Empire,  or  some  other  place,  they 
put  their  small  heads  together  and  talked  the  mat- 
ter over.  They  were  very  fond  of  their  mother, 
those  poor,  fatherless  little  ones,  for  'Flash  Kate" 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  135 


was  always  kind  to  the  kids  and — well,  to  make  a 
long  story  short,  what  do  you  think  was  the  up- 
shot of  the  children's  deliberations  ?  Xever  before 
in  my  life  heard  I  such  a  strange  decision  for 
childish  minds  to  arrive  at ;  but  you  see,  they  were 
reared  in  the  Tenderloin.  Those  poor,  fatherless 
little  wretches,  into  whose  lives  little  brightness 
stole,  loved  their  mother  so  deeply  that  they  de- 
cided to  die  for  her  as  Jesus  had  done  for  the 
world,  although  they  did  not  comprehend  at  all 
what  it  meant.  Children  of  the  Tenderloin  soon 
learn  everything  connected  with  crime  and  these 
knew  enough  to  blow  out  the  light  and  leave  the 
gas  full  on,  so  that  they  should  be  suffocated. 

"No  one  would  ever  have  known  but  that  their 
deaths  were  accidental,  except  for  a  little  scrawl 
written  on  a  piece  of  paper  by  one  of  the  kids, 
under  which  the  names  of  those  who  could  write 
were  signed.  On  the  paper  were  found  these 
words : 

"  'Dear  Mama :  We  have  died  to  save  you  as 
you  are  a  sinner.  Your  loving  Katie,  Jimmy, 
Mamie,  Johnny/ 

"As  soon  as  the  funeral  was  over,  'Flash  Kate* 
committed  suicide. 

"The  case  is  in  the  records  of  the  Thirtieth 


136  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


Street  Police  Station.  Any  one  can  look  it  up 
who  chooses  to  do  so." 

"Let's  have  something  lively,  now,  for  a  change," 
suggested  De  Marville,  whose  eyes  were  a  little 
blurred  over  the  old  politician's  story,  as  were  those 
of  several  others. 

"Ill  give  you  something  lively,"  said  Dan  Eoot, 
the  wholesale  liquor  man.  "It's  a  bird,  and  it's 
just  hot  off  the  coals,  too. 

"I  happened  into  the  Haymarket  one  night. 
You  know,  of  course,  that  being  a  married  man,  I 
wouldn't  have  gone  there  had  not  business  called 
me.  I  chanced  to  supply  the  place  with  most  of 
its  liquor. 

"When  I  dropped  in,  there  were  three  new  girls 
in  the  place,  just  up  from  Louisville,  and  they 
were  topliners,  every  one  of  them.  Their  father 
had  been  connected  with  a  distillery  down  there, 
and  I  pretended  that  I  had  known  him. 

"This  put  us  in  good  touch,  immediately,  and 
when  the  proprietor  and  myself  opened  a  few 
bottles  of  wine — merely  for  business  sake,  you 
know — the  girls  began  to  feel  full  of  the  devil. 

"They  wanted  to  do  something  excruciatingly 
funny  and  each  bet  the  others  that  she  would  do 
the  funniest  thing  of  all. 

"The  girls  were  dead  game  sports,  handsome  as 
anything  I  ever  saw,  and  looked  'straight  goods' — 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  137 


very  stylish  and  polished — could  have  passed  for 
anything  anywhere,  if  they  had  a  mind  to. 

"Well,  hir,  I  was  just  dead  interested  to  see 
what  those  girls  would  do.  They  were  to  be  al- 
lowed a  week  or  two  to  work  up  their  acts  in,  and 
they  kept  us  guessing  lively  in  the  interval.  Would 
you  believe  it,  each  girl  got  the  same  idea  into 
her  head  concerning  what  would  be  the  funniest 
thing  to  do  under  the  circumstances? 

"Each  decided  that  the  funniest  thing  she  could 
do  would  be  to  get  married  and  fool  some  one. 
In  less  than  two  weeks,  all  three  girls  were  spliced. 
I  don't  wonder  at  it,  for  I  came  near  eloping  with 
one  of  'em  myself.  Well,  this  is  how  they  paired 
off.  One  caught  an  old  roue  at  the  theatre,  with 
her  ingenue  ways.  Another  went  to  church  and 
pretended  she  wanted  to  get  religion.  A  young 
clergyman  fell  in  love  with  and  married  her  as 
soon  as  she  was  converted.  The  other  caught  on 
to  an  all-around  sport,  at  the  race-track,  by  know- 
ing so  much  about  horseflesh,  which,  of  course,  is 
only  natural  with  a  Kentucky  girl.  It  was  a  grim 
joke  on  their  husbands,  I  imagine. 

"Of  course  they  were  soon  all  back  at  the  Hay- 
market.  Xothing  in  married  life  for  them,  at 
their  age,  you  know ;  and  the  tales  those  girls  told 
about  getting  married  kept  the  Haymarket  in  a 
roar  for  weeks  after." 


138  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


"I'll  tell  you  an  odd  little  thing  about  the  Ten- 
derloin/' chimed  in  Delamotte,  the  Sixth  avenue 
dry  goods  man. 

"Did  any  one  ever  hear  of  the  house  of  the 
Seven  Sisters?  No?  Well,  that  was  the  slickest 
fake  I  ever  saw  worked  and  Fve  seen  a  few.  The 
inmates  of  the  house  dressed  as  Sisters  of  Charity, 
quite  an  original  idea,  wasn't  it?  And  one  that 
proved  deucedly  attractive. 

"All  the  girls  had  such  sweet,  pious  faces,  you'd 
have  thought  that  they  were  sprouting  wings  and 
might  fly  away  to  heaven  any  minute.  I  got  onto 
their  racket  first,  through  selling  them  their 
clothes,  but  they  deluded  me  for  a  long  time,  until 
one  of  them  asked  me  one  day,  very  quietly,  if  I 
didn't  want  to  go  to  paradise.  Then  the  game 
was  up,  of  course.  I  don't  believe  that  half  the 
fellows  who  went  there  suspected  they  were  not 
genuine  Sisters.  They  were  always  pledged  to 
secrecy  and  concluded  that  the  girls  were  actually 
what  they  pretended  to  be,  but  liked  a  good  time  on 
the  sly.  Holy  angels!  The  Mother  Superior,  as 
she  had  the  audacity  to  call  herself,  was  one  of 
the  most  dangerous  women  in  town.  I  caught  her 
one  day  in  the  store  trying  to  proselytize  among 
my  girls  and  I  think  that  was  about  the  last  I  saw 
of  the  Seven  Sisters.  They  may  have  been  un- 
frocked nuns,  for  all  I  know,  and  probably  were, 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  139 


for  there  are  such  creatures.  But  the  idea  was 
fascinating  to  men.  Forbidden  fruit,  you  know, 
always  has  a  more  delicious  flavor.    Next  !" 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  a  story  now  of  how 
a  young  and  pretty  girl,  who  lived  in  one  of  the 
worst  of  the  bad  houses,  went  unscathed  through 
the  Tenderloin/'  said  Dooley,  the  comic  part  man. 
"It's  rather  long,  but  you'll  have  to  excuse  that. 
Better  get  Oscar  to  fill  up  the  steins  in  the  in- 
terval. 

"I  happened  to  be  in  one  of  the  Broadway  music 
stores  one  day  and  noticed  a  new  song  announced. 
I  read  the  words  and  found  that  they  were  very 
suggestive,  and  was  more  surprised  than  ever  when 
I  saw  that  they  had  been  written  by  a  lady  whom 
I  knew  very  well. 

"The  next  time  I  met  Leontine  Stanfield,  I 
asked  her  wThat  could  possibly  have  induced  her 
to  write  such  a  song,  which  was  out  of  her  line 
altogether,  and — thereby  hangs  the  tale. 

"  'Yes,'  said  she,  Til  tell  you  all  about  it.  I 
wrote  that  "blue"  song,  and  it  is  forever  cropping 
up  and  disgracing  me.  There's  a  story  goes  with 
the  song  which  might  interest  you. 

"  'We  were  playing  "McSweeny's  Nomination'5 
in  Philadelphia.  Maley  had  the  title  role  and  I 
of  course  was  the  soubrette.  We  had  just  done  our 
double  dance,  which  was  a  rock-bottom  winner, 


140  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


and  had  rushed  into  the  wings  to  make1  a  quick 
change  and  come  back  for  our  first  encore,  when 
we  discovered  a  girl  standing  in  the  entrance, 
where  our  props  and  things  were  laid  out  on  chairs, 
ready  for  use.  Now,  we  took  five  encores  every 
night,  coming  back  in  a  different  character  each 
time.  No  one  was  allowed  to  ever  look  in  that 
entrance  while  our  staff  was  there,  for  fear  of  dis- 
arranging something  and  thereby  queering  our 
act.  The  girl  stood  motionless,  until  we  were  off 
for  the  last  time,  and  then  Maley  jumped  on  her. 
He  did  not  say  much,  but  it  was  the  tone  he  said 
it  in  that  seemed  to  frighten  her. 

"  The  girl  appeared  to  be  about  fifteen  years 
old,  a  slight,  trim  little  figure,  with  a  face  like 
a  delicate  flower  and  big  eyes  of  deepest  sapphire 
hue. 

" '  "Please  forgive  me/'  she  said,  "they  told  me 
I  would  find  you  here  and  I  wanted  to  see  you  so 
much !" 

"  'Maley  stopped  short  and  for  the  first  time 
really  looked  at  her.  He  had  supposed  her  to  be 
one  of  the  extra  girls,  who  had  got  out  of  her 
place. 

" '  "Ahem !"  he  exclaimed,  and  his  manner  be- 
came respectful  and  attentive  at  once.  I  got  my 
cue  and  went  on  again  and  heard  no  more. 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  141 


"'She  was  gone  when  the  act  was  over  and  I 
had  no  time  to  look  around  for  her. 

"  'A  couple  of  days  later,  Maley  came  to  me 
with  that  "blue"  title  and  asked  me  if  I'd  write 
a  song  for  him.  I  never  ask  questions  about  other 
people's  affairs,  when  I'm  not  interested  in  them 
personally,  so  nothing  was  said  about  the  girl  and 
he  did  not  tell  me  what  he  intended  doing  with 
the  song,  but  in  my  mind  I  somehow  connected  the 
twro. 

"  'About  that  time,  I  began  to  notice  a  single 
rose  or  a  pink  or  some  fresh  cut  flower,  lying  on 
my  make-up  box  every  night,  when  I  reached  the 
theatre.  It  was  no  unusual  thing  to  find  flowers 
or  a  box  of  bon-bons  in  my  dressing-room,  from 
some  member  of  the  company,  or  the  manager  of 
the  house,  but  this  single  flower  every  night  struck 
me  as  odd. 

"  'Going  to  the  theatre  early  one  evening,  I 
caught  the  culprit  in  the  act.  It  was  the  girl  who 
had  called  to  see  Maley  on  the  opening  night. 
She  almost  cried  wThen  she  found  I  had  discovered 
her.  I  asked  her  why  she  had  taken  so  much 
trouble  on  my  account  and  she  replied: 

" '  "It  made  me  happy  to  do  something  for  you, 
that  was  all.  I've  raised  every  one  of  those  flowers 
myself.  I  have  quite  a  window  full  of  plants  at 
home." 


142  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


" ' Yes/  I  replied,  'but  why  give  them  to  me  ? 

" '  "I  think  you  are  so  nice/'  she  said,  "and  Mr. 
Maley  says  you  are  good." 

"  'What  is  Mr.  Maley  to  you?'  I  asked. 

" '  "He  was  the  friend  and  partner  of  my  hus- 
band/' she  replied,  the  tears  coursing  down  her 
cheeks.  "He  was  the  best  man  for  Bert/'  she 
added,  "and  knows  all  about  our  affairs." 

"  'The  idea  of  a  child  like  you  having  a  hus- 
band.   Where  is  he?' 

" €  "I  doir  t  know.  That  is  why  I  came  to  see 
Mr.  Maley.  I  thought  he  might  know.  My  hus- 
band left  three  months  ago,  saying  that  he  had  a 
good  engagement  in  St.  Louis,  in  a  stock  company. 
Since  then  I  can  get  no  word  from  him.  He  has 
never  written  once  or  sent  me  any  money,  and  he 
knows  how  much  we  need  it." 

"  'Alma  stayed  with  me  that  evening  in  the 
dressing-room.  After  the  performance,  Maley  and 
I  took  her  home.  She  asked  me  to  take  dinner 
with  her  in  her  flat  the  next  day,  which  I  did. 
I  found  her  in  small,  but  very  neat  quarters,  keep- 
ing house  with  her  mother  and  a  tiny  boy,  which 
she  did  not  need  to  tell  me  was  her  own.  The 
mother  was  a  woman  of  refinement  and  education, 
and  the  girl,  though  shy  and  retiring,  had  all  the 
earmarks  of  good  breeding. 

"  'Bert,  the  husband,  it  seems,  had  nearly  run 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  143 


her  down  with  his  wheel  one  day,  as  she  was  cross- 
ing a  street.  Although  no  bones  were  broken, 
she  had  a  hard  fall  and  a  kid  bruise.  He  had 
called  at  the  house  to  enquire  after  her,  the  next 
day,  and  that  was  the  beginning.  He  was  playing 
a  date  in  the  city  at  the  time,  and  Maley  was  his 
partner  in  a  vaudeville  sketch.  It  was  the  old 
story  of  love  at  first  sight,  and  they  were  soon 
married. 

"  'All  went  well  for  a  time  and  they  were  very 
happy.  Then  Bert's  bad  side  began  to  show.  He 
got  hold  of  all  the  money  he  could  and  left  his 
wife  and  her  mother  destitute.  He  seemed  to 
care  for  his  child  but  not  enough  to  take  care  of 
him.  Now  he  had  been  gone  months  and  no  one 
knew  what  had  become  of  him.  Maley  had  sepa- 
rated from  him  at  the  time  of  his  marriage.  The 
girPs  last  hope  seemed  to  go  when  she  found 
Maley  could  tell  her  nothing.  She  was  obliged 
to  do  something  to  support  herself  and  the  child, 
while  her  mother  was  also  depending  upon  her. 

"  'Alma  had  a  sweet  voice  and  played  the  piano 
with  a  good  deal  of  skill,  but  was  not  in  any  way 
fitted  for  the  stage.  I  became  so  much  interested 
in  her  that,  before  I  left  town,  with  the  aid  of 
Maley,  I  managed  to  get  a  nice  little  purse  to- 
gether for  her.  Soon  after  that  I  was  down  with 
the  rheumatism  and  couldn't  dance. 


144  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


"  'Well,  the  next  I  heard  of  Alma,  came  about 
through  the  Tenderloin.  My  own  troubles  had 
made  me  temporarily  forget  the  poor  girl. 

"  'A  man,  named  Harold,  was  on  from  Chicago 
entertaining  friends  who  were  about  to  sail  for 
Australia,  I  was  invited  to  join  a  box-party, 
that  he  was  giving  one  night. 

"  'After  hearing  Calve,  we  left  the  opera  house 
and  wrent  to  Sector's.  While  there,  it  was  pro- 
posed that  we  go  and  see  the  town — "go  slum- 
ming/' as  they  called  it.  Every  one  seemed  to  ap- 
prove the  idea  and  we  started  out  in  two  automo- 
biles. This  was  about  one  o'clock.  We  did  the 
Tenderloin  pretty  thoroughly,  in  a  rapid  way, 
and  the  east  was  beginning  to  show  streaks  of  day- 
light, when  we  brought  up  at  a  place  kept  by  a 
woman  named  Diamond  Kate.  The  door  was 
opened  by  a  boy  in  buttons.  Harold  had  evidently 
been  known  there  at  some  time,  for  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  getting  in. 

"  'We  were  ushered  into  a  large  well-furnished 
room.  In  one  corner  was  a  little  alcove  with  an 
upright  piano,  standing  so  that  the  player  was 
unseen,  and  screens  closed  her  in  besides. 

"  'There  were  six  girls  lounging  about,  and 
Diamond  Kate  herself  came  in  and  undertook  to 
entertain  us.  While  the  wine  was  being  served, 
some  one  called  for  a  song. 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  145 


*  *Kate  spoke  to  the  hidden  singer  and  in  a  mo- 
ment a  clear,  fresh  yoting  voice  began  to  sing  the 
words  of  that  wretched  old  blue  song  of  mine,  that 
I  had  written  for  Maley.  I  was  curious  to  know 
who  the  singer  was,  but  Diamond  Kate  said  "it  was 
only  a  party  who  came  of  an  evening  to  play  by 
the  hour,  no  one  that  could  in  any  way  interest 
me.  She  never  sees  any  one  who  comes  into  the 
house,"  she  added. 

"  That  made  me  the  more  determined  to  know 
who  she  was,  and  I  deliberately  went  over  and 
pushed  past  one  of  the  screens. 

"  '  "Alma  !"  I  gasped,  too  stunned  by  the  sight  of 
her  to  say  another  word. 

"  'She  had  not  changed  in  any  way  in  her  looks, 
having  only  grown  a  little  paler  and,  perhaps,  a 
trifle  thinner. 

"  'Diamond  Kate  hovered  about  and  seemed  to 
feel  much  concerned  at  my  having  unearthed  the 
girl.  I  asked  Alma  what  she  was  doing  there,  and 
she  answered: 

" '  "Earning  the  only  honest  living  that  I  know 

of  r 

"  'Alma  had  a  little  dark  room  under  a  stairway. 
I  let  the  others  go  home  without  me,  while  I  went 
with  her  to  talk  matters  over. 

"  'She  told  me  she  had  tried  to  get  work  in  Phila- 
delphia, where  she  thought  to  earn  money  enough 


146  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


to  keep  her  child  and  mother  with  her,  but  had 
been  obliged  to  leave  a  number  of  places  because 
it  was  not  work  her  employers  wanted,  but  "a 
sociable  friend."  As  a  last  resort,  she  had  come 
to  Xew  York  and  gone  into  a  lady's  hairdressing 
establishment,  where  she  acquired  a  great  deal  of 
useful  knowledge  but  got  little  pay.  She  was 
sent  to  Diamond  Kate's  one  day  to  dress  a  girl's 
hair.  Kate  had  taken  a  fancy  to  her  and  when 
she  heard  how  things  stood  with  Alma,  she  told 
her  just  what  kind  of  a  place  she  was  in.  She 
informed  Alma  that,  if  she  didn't  mind,  she  could 
come  there  and  stay  from  Monday  morning  till 
Saturday  night,  and  spend  Sunday  in  Philadelphia. 
Alma  would  have  to  play  the  piano  and  sing  when 
needed  and  have  charge  of  the  hairdressing  of  all 
the  boarders.  She  would  also  have  to  look  espe- 
cially after  Kate's  own  wardrobe  and  other  minor 
matters. 

"  'Alma  had  told  her  that  if  she  could  be  pro- 
tected against  insult  and  not  be  obliged  to  meet 
or  drink  with  visitors,  she  would  avail  herself  of 
the  opportunity. 

"  'At  first  it  was  very  strange  to  her,  and  she 
was  too  frightened  to  be  of  much  use  as  a  singer, 
but  every  one  was  kind  and  Kate  allowed  no  one 
to  go  near  her  in  the  parlor.  She  had  now  become 
used  to  the  surroundings  and  was  happy  to  be 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  147 


earning  so  much  money  and  could  go  home  once 
a  week.  Her  mother  knew  nothing  about  it,  still 
thinking  her  at  the  hairdressing  establishment. 
She  was  able  now  to  keep  her  child  and  mother 
comfortably  and  lay  by  a  little  beside.  Her  hus- 
band had  never  returned  to  her,  having  taken  up 
with  another  woman,  who  worked  with  him  on 
the  stage. 

"  'She  had  told  me  just  this  much  when  the  bell 
rang  and  back  came  Harold  after  me.  I  intro- 
duced him  to  Alma  and  told  him  the  whole  story. 
Now,  Harold,  you  know,  is  an  old  rounder,  he's 
on  toward  forty,  and  was  married  once  in  his  early 
days.  Every  mother  with  a  marriageable  daugh- 
ter on  her  hands  in  Chicago  had  paid  court  to 
Harold,  because  he  comes  of  a  good  family,  has  no 
end  of  money  and  is  in  every  way  "a  great  catch." 
Harold  had  come  to  think  all  women  designing 
or  bad,  and  had  little  or  no  use  for  most  of  them, 
so  I  was  surprised  to  see  him  take  so  much  interest 
in  Alma. 

"  'He  came  up  to  my  flat,  a  day  or  two  after- 
ward, to  ask  more  questions  and  get  my  advice — 
somehow  he  considered  that  he  had  a  right  to,  on 
the  score  of  old  friendship. 

"  'Harold  and  I  went  to  Philadelphia  with  Alma 
the  next  Sunday  and  spent  the  day.  The  boy  and 
his  grandmother  were  both  so  lovable,  that  I  was 


148  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


not  astonished  when  Harold  proposed  freeing 
Alma  from  her  worthless  husband  and  taking  her, 
the  boy  and  the  grandmother  to  Chicago. 

"  'What's  that  ?  Did  he  do  it  ?  Well,  say !  If 
you  go  to  Chicago,  you'll  see  Harold  and  his  wife 
spinning  around  the  park  in  their  handsome  auto- 
mobile. Their  children  are  always  with  them. 
One  of  them  is  his  own  and  the  other  "Bert's  boy," 
but  that  cuts  no  ice.  Harold  is  as  fond  of  him  as 
if  he  were  "flesh  of  his  flesh  and  bone  of  his  bone." 

"  'Ahna  can  have  what  she  likes  and  do  anything 
she  sees  fit.  Harold  delights  in  lavishing  his 
money  on  her;  but  her  wants  are  few;  all  she 
cares  for  is  to  watch  over  her  little  ones  and  to 
see  that  Harold  has  everything  he  wishes.  Grand- 
mother looks  on  contentedly  and  there  is  joy  in 
every  heart. 

"  'Many  questions  have  been  asked  as  to  who 
Alma  was  and  where  Harold  met  her,  but  no  one 
has  ever  discovered  that  at  one  time  she  was  in 
Diamond  Kate's  house.  Diamond  Kate  was  a 
brick  and  so  was  every  one  of  her  girls.  They 
never  opened  their  mouths  about  Alma.  Diamond 
Kate  got  into  trouble  with  the  police  not  long  ago 
and  had  to  move.  A  big  check  came  from  Chicago 
just  at  the  right  moment  and  Kate  knew  who  sent 
it.    Women  are  not  all  bad  who  are  immoral,  by 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  149 


any  means,  and  the  Tenderloin  is  not  the  worst 
place  in  the  world/ 

"There,  boys,  that's  the  story  of  a  blue  song, 
as  Leontine  Stanfield  tells  it,  and  I  guess  it's  a 
irofc  blue  at  that." 

"Fm  going  to  tell  a  story  on  myself,  now,"  said 
Gus  Eenhardt,  the  champagne  agent.  "There 
isn't  much  in  it,  but  it  shows  another  of  the  varied 
phases  of  Tenderloin  life,  and  it  pictures  bad 
people  who  are  bad  and  not  simply  immoral. 
Such  an  experience,  as  I  am  about  to  relate,  serves 
to  steel  the  hearts  of  men  against  doing  kind  ac- 
tions when,  otherwise,  they  would  continue  cast- 
ing their  bread  upon  the  waters  all  their  lives. 
Well,  that's  moralizing  enough. 

"One  day,  as  I  was  passing  down  a  certain 
street  in  the  Tenderloin  district,  I  was  stopped  by 
a  woman,  who  told  me  the  usual  tale  of  woe — hus- 
band out  of  work,  children  starving,  rent  unpaid, 
and  a  whole  lot  of  other  heartbreaking  stuff.  She 
was  pretty,  of  course,  and  pleaded  with  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

"  'Its  just  up  here/  she  said,  simply  enough. 
'Come  up  to  the  rooms  and  I'll  show  you  the  chil- 
dren starving  and  my  poor  husband,  who,  I  think, 
is  going  into  decline/  All  this  was  duly  inter- 
spersed with  sobs. 

"Well,  who  can  refuse  beauty  in  distress?  I 


150  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


went  up  to  the  rooms.  Ah !  there's  the  rub.  I 
went,  and  don't  you  forget  it,  boys,  I  was  up 
against  the  neatest  little  panel  game  you  ever  saw. 
Children !  Abcr  nit,  but  a  big  burly  fellow,  ready 
with  a  gun,  like  a  small  howitzer.  Well;  they 
bled  me  and  I  got  away  unavenged,  but  I  had 
them  in  the  net  within  half  an  hour.  Most  men 
let  such  things  pass,  because  they  are  afraid  of 
seeing  their  names  in  a  Tenderloin  story  in  the 
newspapers,  but  they  had  no  such  graft  with  me. 

"When  the  poor,  starving  woman  was  searched, 
what  do  you  think  they  took  off  her?  Nothing 
less  than  a  couple  of  revolvers,  a  stiletto  and  a  neat 
little  Mexican  dagger — nice  little  mother,  wasn't 
she?" 

"Well/*  said  Nat  Turner,  the  baseball'  man,  "I 
am  a  great  church-goer,  queerly  enough,  and  prob- 
ably knock  around  the  town  as  little  as  anybody, 
but,  even  in  connection  with  church  matters,  one 
gets  a  glimpse  of  the  redlight  life  once  in  a  while. 

"One  of  the  members  of  our  church  had  a  sis- 
ter, who  belonged  to  the  Tenderloin,  and  this  wo- 
man was  always  trying  to  induce  her  to  reform 
and  lead  a  good  life.  With  all  her  trying,  she  was 
unable  to  effect  any  good  results  and  the  matter 
caused  the  good  woman  an  endless  amount  of 
worry. 

"One  day  the  sister  was  taken  very  ill  and,  in- 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  151 


stead  of  letting  her  be  sent  to  a  hospital,  the 
woman  had  her  brought  tc  her  home  in  the  Xinth 
Ward  and  there  gave  her  good  nursing. 

"After  a  long  siege,  she  was  finally  restored 
to  health,  but  not  before  she  had  managed  to  con- 
tract a  liaison  with  her  sister's  husband,  whom  she 
had  managed  in  some  way  to  entangle  during  her 
sickness.  Strange  to  say,  when  the  wife  fcmnd 
this  out,  she  turned  completely  against  religion, 
left  her  husband  and  his  paramour  to  enjoy  the 
home,  went  deliberately  down  to  the  Tenderloin 
herself,  and  became  notorious  for  her  debaucher- 
ies. 

'"Moral.  If  you  have  a  sister  who  is  'so  so/ 
never  introduce  her  to  your  husband.  This  advice 
is  intended  for  the  ladies,  who,  I  presume,  will 
never  hear  it,  after  it  gets  buried  in  the  archives 
of  the  Knockabout  Club/' 

"One  of  the  funniest  things  I  ever  heard  of  in 
the  Tenderloin,"  said  Bagshot,  the  operatic  tenor, 
"was  Yellow  Jane's  revenge  on  a  certain  police 
captain  of  the  district,  whose  name  shall  be  name- 
less. 

"Yellow  Jane  was  an  awful  nuisance  for  a  long 
time  to  this  Captain's  precinct,  and  he  finally  de- 
cided to  give  her  a  few  weeks  on  the  Island,  for 
the  good  of  her  health. 

"Jane  knew  where  the  blow  came  from,  although 


152  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


she  received  her  sentence  from  the  police  magis- 
trate, of  course.  When  she  was  going  off  in  the 
Maria,  Jane  told  the  Captain  she'd  get  square,  if 
it  took  her  a  lifetime  to  do  it.  Such  promises  are 
made  so  often  by  women  of  her  class,  that  little 
notice  was  taken  of  her  threat,  and,  as  Jane  had 
disappeared  after  serving  her  sentence,  every  one 
around  the  police  station  had  forgotten  about  the 
woman. 

"One  day  there  arrived  at  the  station-house,  ad- 
dressed to  the  Captain,  a  trunk.  The  expressman 
who  delivered  the  freight  had  a  grin  all  over  his 
face,  when  he  dropped  it  against  the  desk  and, 
when  the  squealing  of  what  sounded  like  a  half- 
dozen  puppies  was  heard,  proceeding  from  the 
trunk,  all  the  boys  around  became  interested. 
Later  in  the  day  the  Captain  came  in  and  unsus- 
pectingly gave  orders  for  the  trunk  to  be  opened. 
In  it  were  found  three  little  pickaninnies — trip- 
lets of  course — three  shades  lighter  than  Yellow 
Jane,  and  all  looking  a  little  bit  like  the  Captain^ 
as  everybody  averred. 

"Attached  to  one  of  the  triplets  was  a  letter  to 
the  Captain,  written  in  terrible  English.  It  was 
signed  'Yellow  Jane*  and  ran  something  like  the 
following  : 

"  Take  your  brats  and  bring  them  up,  as  I  can't 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  153 


afford  the  expense  of  doing  it.  Everybody  can 
see  they're  yours,  and  you  ought  to  be  sent  up  for 
taking  advantage  of  a  poor  colored  girl  as  you 
have  done.  Fll  take  care  your  family  knows  all 
about  the  matter.  You  thought  by  railroading  me 
to  the  Island,  you  could  get  out  of  your  scrape,  but 
I've  managed  to  get  ahead  of  you  and  escape  your 
clutches.  See  what  your  friends  will  think  of  it 
now. 

"  Tour  old  love, 

"'Yellow  Jane/ 

"My!  But  wasn't  the  Captain  mad,  clean 
through.  He  was  in  just  the  nastiest  position  im- 
aginable. He  was  afraid  to  burn  the  letter  that 
came  with  the  children,  as  there  were  too  many 
witnesses  of  its  existence,  so  he  just  pledged  us  all 
to  secrecy  and  shipped  his  babies  off  in  double- 
quick  order  to  the  foundling  asylum.  No  news- 
paper reporter  was  ever  to  know  anything  of  the 
occurrence,  of  course.  Oh,  no !  under  no  circum- 
stances. 

"But,  Yellow  Jane  hadn't  planned  things  that 
way,  had  she  ?  Not  quite !  Somehow,  she  had  se- 
cured a  photograph  of  the  Captain  and  had  her 
own  taken  with  the  triplets,  all  put  together  in  a 
combination,  which  photographers  get  up  like  an 
actual  group  photograph.    Copies  of  these  pic- 


154  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


tures  and  of  her  letter  to  the  Captain  had  been 
sent  to  every  newspaper  in  New  York,  and  the  re- 
porters soon  began  to  pour  in  and  question  the 
Captain  on  the  subject. 

"When  the  Captain  strenuously  denied  that  the 
triplets  had  been  sent  to  him,  they  trooped  off  to 
the  foundling  asylum  and  found  out  that  he  had 
been  lying  to  them.  Then,  of  course,  they  didn't 
do  a  thing  to  the  story.  Every  newspaper  had  a 
column  or  two  on  the  affair,  most  of  them  humor- 
ous, of  course,  and  they  used  the  pictures.  As  it 
happened,  the  Captain  wasn't  over  popular  with 
the  reporters.  The  Captain  was  transferred  from 
the  precinct  and,  I  believe,  his  wife  got  a  divorce 
from  him. 

"It  was  the  deadliest  joke  I  ever  heard  of  be- 
ing played  on  any  one  and  nobody  but  a  durned 
low-down  yellar  nigger  could  ever  have  thought 
out  such  a  mean  scheme  of  revenge,  as  did  that 
unconscionable  mulatter." 

"Now,  I'll  give  you  something  about  Tender- 
loin marriages  that  will  be  amusing,  I  think," 
said  St.  Rue,  the  champion  sword  swallower. 
"Among  my  acquaintances  I  once  counted  a  young 
English  pianist,  who  was  about  as  dashing  a  fel- 
low as  ever  came  across  the  Atlantic.  He  could 
play  like  an  angel,  but  only  when  he  was  under 
the  influence  of  the  divine,  or  the  liquid  afflatus. 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  155 


Women  ran  after  him  like  flies  after  a  sugarbowl, 
but  the  pianist  had  only  one  use  for  them ;  if  they 
had  money,  he  wanted  it  to  spend,  and  then — the 
rest  can  easily  be  imagined. 

"At  the  time  when  he  dawned  upon  Xew  York, 
the  young  musician  was  under  the  wing  of  a  harpist 
of  national  repute,  a  woman  old  enough  to  be  his 
mother,  and  yet  willing  to  spend  most  of  her  large 
earnings  in  supporting  his  little  vices. 

"One  fateful  day,  a  rather  good-looking  sou- 
brette  bewitched  the  pianist.  She  had  a  number 
of  children  and  a  husband  somewhere,  but  that 
didn't  count.  She  wanted  the  pianist  just  then 
and  she  meant  to  have  him. 

"Money !  If  the  other  woman  gave  him  a  hun- 
dred a  week,  she  would  double  the  allowance.  Of 
course,  the  pianist  was  willing  to  become  a  victim. 

"The  soubrette,  who,  herself,  had  fooled  many 
a  man  in  her  time,  acted  like  a  lunatic.  She 
bought  her  idol  jewelry,  she  gave  him  hundred- 
dollar  bills  as  often  as  he  asked  for  them,  and  she 
just  made  that  harpist  lady  feel  like  a  lost  broncho, 
strayed  into  the  Arizonian  desert.  Then  the  harp- 
ist raised  the  ante  and  got  him  back  for  a  few 
days,  but  the  soubrette  determined  to  outflank 
her. 

"One  evening,  she  succeeded  in  getting  the  pian- 
ist into  a  very  mellow  and  comfortable  condition. 


156  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


Then  she  coaxed  and  cajoled  him  into  getting 
married  to  her  and  actually  succeeded  in  taking 
him  to  the  Little  Church  Around  the  Corner  with 
her  and  going  through  the  marriage  ceremony. 

"Then  followed  the  honeymoon — a  long  cham- 
pagne delirium,  during  which,  the  harpist,  of 
course,  discovered  what  had  happened. 

"First,  she  determined  upon  publicly  horsewhip- 
ping her  rival.  Then  she  thought  over  the 
chances  that  would  result  from  bringing  a  charge 
of  bigamy  against  her,  but  unfortunately,  the 
harpist  had  a  past  of  her  own.  A  little  bit  of  re- 
flection decided  her  upon  the  step  she  would  take. 

"One  night,  about  twelve  o'clock,  shortly  after 
the  soubrette  and  the  pianist  had  retired  to  the 
nuptial  chamber,  there  was  a  violent  tugging  at 
their  doorbell.  The  pianist  jumped  out  of  bed 
and  learned  through  the  speaking-tube  that  a 
friend  of  his  was  in  a  cab  below,  sick  and  most 
anxious  to  speak  with  him.  The  name  given  was 
that  of  one  of  his  most  intimate  acquaintances. 

"The  bait  caught !  In  a  loose  robe  de  chambre, 
he  hastily  descended  to  the  vehicle.  The  door  of 
the  cab  was  open  and  a  push  from  the  coachman 
sent  the  half-awakened  pianist  headforemost  into 
the  harpist's  arms.  Then  the  door  was  snapped 
to  and  the  cab  drove  off  at  a  rapid  rate  across 
town. 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  157 


"  'Ambushed  !'  exclaimed  the*  pianist,  when  he 
discovered  his  predicament. 

"  Redeemed  !'  replied  the  harpist.  'I  came  to 
take  you  out  of  pawn  from  that  wretched  creature. 
She  will  have  to  answer  to  a  charge  of  bigamy  to- 
morrow and  you  would  have  been  locked  up  as  a 
witness/ 

"In  vain  the  pianist  protested.  He  was  taken 
to  the  harpist's  apartments  in  his  robe  de  chambre 
and  there  he  was  left  for  a  week  without  clothes  to 
put  on,  until  Madame  was  ready  to  start  for  the 
West.  That  woman  didn't  give  him  a  chance  to 
breathe  fresh  air  until  he  was  aboard  the  Chicago 
Limited. 

"The  soubrette  was  out  about  a  thousand  dollars, 
a  fine  diamond  ring  and  the  rest,  but  she  had  his 
clothes  as  a  memento. 

"I  wonder  if  that  trio  ever  crossed  lines  again; 
if  they  did,  there  was  fun !" 

"These  stories  are  getting  into  a  rut,"  remarked 
Tomlins,  the  athlete.  "I'll  give  you  something 
that  occurred  to  me  once  in  the  Tenderloin.  You 
won't  believe  it,  but  I'll  stand  for  every  word  and 
produce  proof  as  well,  if  necessary. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  vampires  in  the  Tender- 
loin— the  real,  genuine  article?  Well,  we  have 
them,  anyway.  They  develop  the  taste  from  the 
hot-blood-drinking  habit  and,  after  awhile,  they 


158  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


want  a  man's  blood,  not  an  animal's,  and  they  want 
an  athlete's  at  that — none  of  your  puny,  wizened- 
up  men  will  suit  them.  Mysterious  disappear- 
ances! Yes,  I  rather  think  so.  The  vampires 
will  account  for  any  number  of  them.  But,  I'll 
simply  confine  myself  to  my  own  experience. 

"One  day,  I  happened  to  be  walking  along  some 
street  in  the  Tenderloin  quarter,  which  one,  ex- 
actly, I  have  vainly  endeavored  since  to  remem- 
ber, but  for  the  purposes-  of  the  story,  that  doesn't 
matter  a  jot. 

"As  I  walked  along,,  a  woman  passed  me.  She 
was  about  the  height  and  build  of  Lily  Langtry 
and  was  a  good  deal  better-looking.  Our  eyes 
met,  as  she  turned  towards  me  at  passing  and  from 
that  moment  I  was  completely  under  her  control. 
To  offer  an  explanation  of  why  it  was  so,  would 
be  ridiculous,  for  that  would  prove  nothing.  I 
only  know  that  I  was  hurrying  to  an  important 
engagement,  at  one  of  the  big  hotels  on  Broadway, 
when  she  crossed  my  path,  and  from  the  moment 
I  met  the  woman's  eyes,  the  business  I  was  en- 
gaged upon  dropped  completely  out  of  my  mind. 
I  suppose  I  was  what  they  call  'obsessed.'  Heaven 
only  knows  what  it  was.  I  just  walked  along 
beside  the  woman  as  if  I  had  been  a  dog,  wearing 
her  collar ;  and  when  she  tripped  lightly  up  a  flight 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium,  159 


of  brownstone  steps,  I  followed  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

"She  led  the  way  into  a  richly  furnished  parlor, 
and,  with  a  most  gracious  smile,  turned  to  me, 
asking  if  I  would  not  be  seated  and  rest  for  a 
little  while.  She  appeared  to  act  quite  naturally, 
but  my  eyes  seemed  to  be  glued  to  her,  and  a 
strange  thing  about  the  matter  was  that  she 
seemed  to  be  growing  more  entrancingly  beauti- 
ful every  minute. 

"After  she  had  removed  her  street  attire,  she 
looked  ten  times  more  dazzlingly  beautiful  than  I 
had  imagined  she  could  possibly  look  before.  Her 
eyes  held  mine  as  a  strong  magnet  will  hold  steel 
filings. 

"For  awhile  she  toyed  with  me  as  a  cat  will 
play  with  a  mouse,  evidently  enjoying  as  much  of 
her  lust  for  blood  by  anticipation  as  by  posses- 
sion. 

"In  the  course  of  her  play,  she  led  me  from 
room  to  room,  growing  more  and  more  lovely, 
to  my  hypnotized  vision,  as  she  moved,  making  me 
ever  and  ^anon  kneel  and  kiss  her  daintly  sandled 
feet,  her  hand,  the  hem  of  her  most  dainty  rai- 
ment. 

"I  obeyed  all  her  desires,  precisely  as  an  automa- 
ton would  have  done.  Finally,  she  was  convinced 
that  she  had  annihilated  my  will  completely,  that 


160  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


I  was  as  passive  as  an  infant  in  her  hands.  Then 
she  led  me  to  a  lounge  and  I  laid  down  as  obedi- 
ently as  a  child  might  have  done — the  slave  of 
her  diabolical  will.  But  she  had  waited  long  for 
her  gratification,  her  impatience  was  now  aroused 
and  her  manner  took  on  the  ferocity  of  the  tiger. 
She  could  scarcely  wait  to  unloosen  my  clothing, 
and«  cut  open  my  shirt-front  with  a  knife,  so  fierce 
was  the  thrall  of  her  hideous  passion.  Then  I 
felt  the  sharp  prick  of  a  small  weapon  near  one 
of  the  arteries  in  my  bosom  and  became  uncon- 
scious. Hours  must  have  passed.  The  vampire's 
horrible  appetite  must  have  been  sated. 

"But  her  fascinating  influence  was  still  over  me. 
I  felt  no  repugnance  toward  her.  Even  though 
she  had  taken  my  heart's  blood,  I  was  still  en- 
thralled by  her  beauty  or  by  the  fatal  'obsession/ 
I  dimly  remember  kissing  her  hand  as  she  pushed 
me  into  a  cab  late  at  night  and  gave  the  driver 
instructions  as  to  where  he  was  to  take  me. 

"When  I  awoke  the  next  morning,  I  found  my- 
self in  bed  in  an  uptown  hotel,  which  I  had  never 
before  patronized.  There  was  a  sharp  pain  in  my 
chest  and,  upon  examining  the  spot,  I  found  a 
small  wound,  which  had  been  neatly  sutured. 

"As  to  the  address  of  the  place,  where  I  had 
been  the  previous  day,  I  could  remember  nothing. 
My  money  and  jewelry  were  intact,  but  I  was  al- 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  161 


most  too  weak  to  move,  and  could  not  leave  the 
hotel  until  the  afternoon. 

"When  I  related  the  occurrence  to  the  police, 
they  told  me  that  I  had  had  a  'pipe  dream/  No  one 
yet  seems  to  have  been  convinced  of  the  truth  of 
my  story,  and  I  fear,  gentlemen,  neither  are  you, 
but  I'll  prove  it  right  here,''  and  Tomlins  made  a 
feint  to  unbutton  his  vest. 

"Oh,  a  scar  would  prove  nothing,"  said  young 
Rooney. 

Tomlins  looked  disheartened,  but  kept  quiet. 
He  evidently  was  trying  hard  to  retain  his  belief 
in  his  own  story. 

"Well,  boys,  it's  getting  late  and  we'll  soon  have 
to  close  up  shop,  but  I'll  tell  you  just  one  little 
short  experience  that  will  cap  this  rake's  garland 
off  all  right  and  save  us  from  Anthony  Comstock's 
attentions/'  said  Yanderloop,  the  orchestra  leader. 
"Mind  you,  too,  the  story  is  true  to  the  smallest 
detail. 

"Nina  was  one  of  the  queens  of  the  Tenderloin, 
in  the  old  professional  days,  and  she  was  a  beauty 
if  ever  there  was  one.  It  happened  that  Nina  was 
going  to  the  opera  one  night.  Some  rich  swell 
had  invited  her,  and  she  was  expecting  a  bouquet 
of  Jacqueminot  roses  to  wear  on  the  occasion, 
which  he  had  promised  to  send  her. 

"The  roses  were  very  slow  arriving  and  Xina 


162  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


sent  around  to  the  district  messenger  office  to 
learn  if  anything  had  been  heard  about  them. 
Word  came  back  that  they  should  have  been  de- 
livered an  hour  before,  as  they  had  left  the  office. 
As  Nina  was  already  dressed,  she  thought  she 
would  just  step  over  to  the  messenger  office,  which 
was  in  an  adjoining  street,  and  make  further  in- 
quiries. When  she  arrived  there,  it  was  to  learn 
that  the  messenger,  who  had  been  sent  with  the 
roses,  had  stepped  on  a  live  wire  and  had  been  in- 
stantly killed.    The  roses  were  missing. 

"Nina  became  interested  in  the  matter  and  in- 
quiries were  started.  Some  of  the  boys  around  the 
office  said  that  the  dead  messenger  boy  had  a  little 
sick  brother,  whom  he  supported  and  with  whom 
he  often  left  flowers  for  a  few  moments,  while  on 
his  way  to  deliver  them,  or  obtain  for  him  some 
little  thing  that  he  needed.  Nina  listened  to  the 
story  with  the  deepest  interest  and,  as  the  tene- 
ment house,  where  the  children  lived,  was  in  the 
immediate  vicinity,  she  went  over  to  see  how  the 
little  fellow  was  faring. 

"Alas !  It  had  been  a  double  tragedy.  The 
neighbors  soon  told  her  the  brief  sad  story. 

"When  the  messenger  boy  had  called  to  learn 
how  his  little  brother  was  feeling,  he  had  found 
him  dying  and  had  rushed  off  for  a  doctor,  leav- 
ing the  roses  by  the  bedside.    On  his  way  for 


The  Tenderloin  Symposium.  163 


medical  aid,  the  messenger  had  met  his  own  fate 
by  stepping  on  the  fallen  wire.  The  two  boys 
must  have  died  almost  simultaneously,  the  little 
invalid  all  alone  in  the  gloomy  room,  lightened 
only  by  the  perfume  and  beauty  of  Nina's  jacque- 
minots, whose  fragrance  he  had  been  inhaling 
when  the  angel  of  death  beckoned  him  beyond. 

"Nina  never  wore  those  roses.  They  were 
buried  with  the  two  boys,  and  Nina  paid  all  the 
funeral  expenses. 

"That's  a  true  chapter  out  of  Tenderloin  life, 
boys.  I  wonder  if  the  florist  was  ever  paid  for  the 
roses." 

This  was  the  last  story  told  that  night,  and  the 
curtain  was  rung  down  on  the  Tenderloin  Sym- 
posium. 


164  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

LOVE  LOST  AND  FOUND. 

Two  men  were  never  more  of  a  mystery  to  one 
another  than  Jack  Harding  and  Harry  Taylor 
had  become  of  late.  From  being  almost  insepara- 
ble companions,  and  the  mutual  receptacle  for 
confidences,  they  had,  while  still  rooming  together, 
become  almost  insensible  to  each  other's  existence 
and  indifferent  to  each  other's  plans  and  prospects. 

Thus  had  the  upas-tree  of  jealousy  overshadowed 
the  tender  plant  of  boyhood  friendship  and 
poisoned  its  tendrils  at  a  time  when  they  were 
twining  up  around  the  boles  of  strong  young  man- 
hood. 

There  had  been  no  misunderstanding  on  the 
part  of  the  two  friends,  but  rather  a  quiet  and 
tacit  agreement  that  each  was  hunting  the  same 
quarry  and  must  depend  upon  his  own  exertions 
for  success  or  defeat. 

The  old  form  of  camaraderie  was  maintained  in 
many  ways,  but  the  real  spirit  of  the  feeling 
seemed  to  have  vanished  for  the  nonce  at  least. 


Love  Lost  and  Found.  165 


Both  now  stood  waiting  and  watching  for  final 
results.  To  Harry,  the  idea  was  dawning  that 
he  had  outstripped  his  friend  in  the  race,  but 
had  he  known  all  about  a  certain  incident  which 
had  taken  place  in  a  cab  one  evening  not  so  long 
past,  he  would  not  have  congratulated  himself  so 
prematurely. 

On  the  other  hand,  Jack  Harding  was  a  torrent 
of  mixed  emotions  from  which  he  would  have 
given  anything  to  have  escaped.  It  would  be  idle 
to  say  that  the  face  of  so  beautiful  and  fascinating 
a  woman  as  Marian  Heath  did  not  haunt  him  still, 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  also  felt  the  growing 
influence  of  Helen  Van  Duyne's  gentler  beauty 
and  more  delicate  womanhood.  Indeed,  Helen 
predominated  very  much  in  his  thoughts  and,  when 
he  compared  the  fact  that  in  that  field  he  probably 
had  no  rival,  whilst  in  the  other  he  knew  not  how 
many  there  might  be,  Jack  determined  to  take  a 
bold  step.  The  character  of  Helen  Van  Duyne, 
like  his  own,  was  simple  and  ingenuous,  and  he 
felt  that  in  her  hands  his  fate  would  be  in  safe 
keeping.  He  recalled  the  pleasant  fact  that  she 
had  always  been  sweet  and  obliging  to  him  and 
ready  to  do  at  any  time  for  him  what  a  sister 
might  do  for  a  brother.  This,  of  course,  was  no 
assurance  that  she  entertained  more  than  a  friendly 
feeling  for  him,  and  of  late,  as  he  remembered,  on 


166  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


second  thought,  he  had  noticed  that  she  had  been 
receiving  marked  attention  from  other  men,  one 
of  whom,  perhaps,  might  be  her  accepted  suitor. 
While  it  would  not  be  extremely  pleasant  to  learn 
from  Helen's  lips  that  she  would  always  be  to  him 
what  she  had  been,  a  sister,  he  determined  to  put 
matters  to  the  test  by  visiting  the  young  lady  and 
ascertaining — if  such  a  feat  could  be  accomplished 
— the  real  state  of  her  feelings  toward  him. 

Miss  Van  Duyne  received  Jack  with  a  smile 
and  a  rather  boyish  greeting,  as  she  entered  the 
parlor. 

About  the  most  helpless  creature  in  the  world  is 
the  man  who,  for  the  first  time,  essays  to  ask  of  a 
woman  that  difficult  question  whose  answer  will 
have  so  much  influence  upon  the  future  destiny  of 
both.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  woman  knows 
from  the  halting  manner  and  awkwardness  of  the 
man  just  wrhat  is  coming  and  endeavors  to  add  to 
his  embarrassment  as  much  as  possible,  by  pre- 
tending not  to  do  so.  This  is  not  real  unkindness 
on  her  part,  but  simply  coquetry. 

After  fidgeting  with  a  number  of  topics,  the 
discussion  of  which  seemed  to  furnish  no  ostensi- 
ble reason  for  his  call,  Jack  suddenly  gathered 
up  courage  enough  to  grasp  the  young  lady's  hand. 
This  proceeding  naturally  caused  her  to  blush 
deeply  and,  while  she  was  palpitating  and  trem- 


Love  Lost  and  Found.  167 


bling  like  a  fawn,  which  the  hunter  has  at  last 
brought  to  bay,  Jack  said,  with  as  much  steadi- 
ness of  tone  as  he  could  command : 

"Helen,  from  our  earliest  childhood,  we  have 
been  constant  companions,  and  I  now  know  that  I 
must  have  loved  you  even  in  those  youthful  days, 
and  that  this  love  has  grown  with  our  growth.  I 
never  stopped  to  analyze  my  feelings,  however, 
until  a  short  time  ago,  when  I  imagined  myself 
infatuated  with  another.  When  seriously  compar- 
ing my  feelings  toward  both,  I  discovered,  with- 
out the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  that  you,  and  you  alone 
have  held  my  heart  enthralled  and  awakened 
all  that  is  best  and  noblest  within  me.  Helen, 
dear,  can  you  return  my  love  and  entrust  your 
future  to  my  keeping?" 

Helen  had  listened  in  silence,  but  the  hand 
which  he  held  trembled  violently.  When  he  ceased 
speaking,  she  looked  up  into  his  face,  wTith  a  new 
sweet  shyness,  and  said: 

"Jack,  what  you  have  told  me  just  now,  makes 
me  very,  very  happy.  I  have  thought  that  you 
loved  me  and  have  always  known  for  years  what 
was  the  nature  of  my  own  feelings  toward  you, 
but  I  feared,  by  reason  of  our  constant  and  inti- 
mate companionship,  you  would  never  realize  the 
true  state  of  your  feelings  for  me." 

After  conversing  for  nearly  an  hour,  as  only 


168  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


lovers  do,  Jack  suggested  that  he  would  like  to 
speak  to  Helen's  parents  as  he  could  not  feel  that 
she  was  truly  his  until  their  engagement  had  re- 
ceived her  father's  sanction. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Van  Duyne  evinced  little  surprise, 
but  considerable  pleasure  at  Jack's  proposal,  hav- 
ing always  felt  that  the  two  would  one  day  become 
man  and  wife.  They  gave  their  blessing  freely 
and  gladly,  feeling  that  their  daughter's  future 
was  in  good  hands. 

"Helen,"  said  Jack  later  in  the  evening,  "there  is 
a  favor  I  would  like  to  ask  at  your  hands." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Helen.  "You're  begin- 
ning to  make  requests  rather  early." 

"All  I  ask,  dear,  is  that  our  engagement  may  not 
be  a  long  one.  I  have  been  a  rover  so  long,  that  I 
yearn  for  a  home  of  my  own,  and  with  you  as 
its  queen,  it  will  be  little  less  than  paradise." 

Helen  hesitated  a  little,  making  the  usual  objec- 
tion of  the  impossibility  of  the  trousseau  being 
ready  in  time ;  but  was  finally  induced  to  consent, 
on  Jack's  promise  to  procure  apartments  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  parental  home. 

When  Jack  reached  his  home  that  evening,  at  a 
rather  late  hour,  of  course,  he  found  Harry  in 
bed,  but  not  asleep,  so  decided  to  break  the  news 
at  once. 

"Harry/'  said  he  abruptly,  "I  have  done  some- 


Love  Lost  and  Found.  169 


thing  out  of  the  ordinary  this  evening  and  have  to 
ask  for  your  congratulations." 

''What  the  dickens  do  I  care,"  growled  Harry. 
"You  have  been  going  your  own  way  so  much 
lately,  that  I  am  beginning  to  lose  all  interest  in 
your  movements." 

The  fact  was  that  Harry  imagined  Jack  had 
stolen  a  march  on  him  by  proposing  to  Marian 
Heath,  and  to  ask  for  his  congratulations  in  such 
event  was  enough  to  test  the  fastest  friendship. 

"Don't  be  such  a  boor,  Harry.  You'll  be 
ashamed  of  your  words  when  you  hear  all  I  have 
to  tell  you.  Harry,  I'm  engaged  to  be  married 
to  Helen  Van  Duyne.  You  have  heard  me  speak 
of  her  frequently;  in  fact,  I  have  often  tried  to 
induce  you  to  accompany  me  there — if  my  memory 
does  not  deceive  me — but  my  efforts  in  that  direc- 
tion always  proved  futile." 

"Forgive  me,  old  man,"  said  Harry,  rather 
huskily,  "you've  taken  my  breath  away.  I  con- 
gratulate you  with  all  my  heart,  Jack,  but  won't 
I  be  lonely  without  you !" 

"Why  don't  you  go  and  do  likewise,  Harry? 
After  all,  a  home  and  wife  is  the  only  life  for  a 
man,  worth  living." 

"I  don't  know  a  girl  foolish  enough  to  marry 
me,"  replied  Harry  modestly. 

"In  that  rather  unlikely  case,  there  will  always 


170  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


be  a  room  in  my  future  home  at  your  disposal." 
"Thanks  for  your  kind  offer,  old  man,  we'll 

see/' 

Harry  lay  awake  for  a  long  time  that  night. 
Events  seemed  to  be  forcing  him  to  take  some  un- 
usual step.  He  and  Jack  had  been  constant  com- 
panions for  years,  and  now,  in  a  month,  it  would 
all  be  over  with,  and  he  would  be  left  alone  in 
the  room  where  until  recently  the  two  had  en- 
joyed so  many  happy  and  few  unhappy  hours  to- 
gether. The  reverie  into  which  he  fell  resulted 
in  strengthening  his  decision,  already  half  formed, 
of  at  once  proposing  marriage  to  Marian  Heath 
and,  before  he  dropped  asleep  that  night,  he  had 
resolved  to  put  his  fate  to  the  test  the  following 
evening. 

In  the  morning's  light,  things  took  on  a  brighter 
hue.  He  planned  the  life  he  and  Marian  would 
lead  together,  with  such  vividness,  it  seemed  almost 
an  impossibility  that  all  his  fair  dreams  could 
come  to  naught,  and  he  be  doomed  to  struggle 
through  the  remaining  years  of  his  life  without 
her. 

That  evening  he  called  upon  Marian  somewhat 
earlier  than  was  his  wont  and  assumed  a  rather 
jovial  humor,  while  she,  on  the  contrary,  was 
quieter  than  usual. 


Love  Lost  and  Found.  171 


"Have  you  heard  the  latest?"  asked  Harry, 
gaily. 

"No,  what  is  it?" 

"My  friend,  Jack  Harding,  whom  you  met  with 
me  on  the  evening  of  your  arrival,  is  engaged  to 
Miss  Van  Duyne,  a  lovely  girl,  if  one  can  judge 
by  her  fiance's  description." 

"She  is,  indeed,"  answered  Marian.  "I  have 
met  her  on  several  occasions,  during  my  stay  in 
Xew  York." 

"I  really  feel  that  I  am  selfish,"  said  Harry, 
"in  thinking  so  sadly  of  my  lonely  condition, 
after  my  friend  has  decided  to  get  married,  but, 
there's  one  way  that  has  suggested  itself  to  me  to 
counteract  this  melancholy,  namely,  to  become  a 
Benedict  myself.  Xow  I  think  you  wish  me  well, 
and  as  you  are  the  only  woman  in  the  world  whom 
I  love  and  desire  to  marry,  if  you  could  persuade 
yourself  to  marry  me,  I  would  be  your  debtor  for 
life."  Then,  continuing  more  seriously:  "Do  not 
think,  Marian,  because  I  have  spoken  thus  lightly, 
that  I  feel  less  deeply  and  do  not  fully  realize 
how  much  I  am  asking  of  you,  but  I  feared  that 
if  I  spoke  as  I  really  feel,  my  emotions  would 
overpower  me,  and  that  I  would  therefore  appear 
to  you  more  like  a  child  than  a  man.  Do  not  keep 
me  in  suspense,  Marian,  but  answer  frankly  as  is 
your  nature — will  you  be  my  wife  ?" 


172  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


Marian  seemed  strangely  agitated.  Her  breath 
came  and  went  quickly  and  her  face  had  turned 
very  pale,  but,  before  she  could  summon  calmness 
enough  to  reply,  he  had  caught  her  in  his  arms 
and  covered  her  with  caresses. 

"Well,  we're  in  for  it,"  said  Harry,  laughing 
a  little  nervously,  after  they  had  resumed  their 
normal  positions. 

"I  suppose  so,"  answered  Marian,  simply. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  a  manner 
well  known  to  all  lovers — in  the  condition  of  sub- 
limated aphasia  in  which  we  seem  to  forget  our 
own  identity — merging  it  into  that  of  that  other 
one — and  revel  in  the  unspeakable  oblivion  and 
self-effacement  of  adoration. 

When  Harry  finally  bade  Miss  Heath  good-night, 
his  feelings  were  beyond  description.  He  felt  as 
if  a  great  load  had  been  removed  from  his  heart, 
and  the  world  seemed ,  all  beauty  and  brightness 
now  that  she  was  actually  his  own.  He  fully  re- 
alized how  deeply  he  loved  her  and  what  life  would 
have  meant  to  him  had  she  refused  him. 

At  the  door  of  the  house  Harry  met  Jack,  and 
they  mounted  the  steps  together.  As  soon  as  they 
had  gained  their  room,  Harry  said  abruptly  but 
gaily: 

"Jack,  Fve  taken  your  advice." 

"What  advice?    I've  given  you  so  many  since 


Love  Lost  and  Found.  173 


our  acquaintance  began  that  I  fail  to  guess  what 
you  particularly  refer  to." 

"I've  contracted  to  get  spliced,  and  no  man 
ever  felt  happier  in  his  life  than  I  do  at  this  mo- 
ment." 

"I  congratulate  you,  old  fellow/"  said  Jack, 
really  moved  by  his  friend's  rapture.  "Who's  the 
lucky  girl?" 

"That's  telling,"  answered  Harry,  "I'll  intro- 
duce you  to  her  to-morrow  evening." 

"That's  mean,"  said  Jack.  "I  told  you  all 
about  my  affair  without  reserve." 

"But  to-morrow  evening  is  not  so  far  off,"  said 
Harry,  gaily,  "then  we'll  let  you  into  everything." 

"I  guess  Fll  have  to  wait  then.  Do  I  know  the 
young  lady?" 

"Can't  tell,  I'm  sure,"  said  Harry,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye.    "You  know  so  many  girls." 

After  dinner,  the  next  evening,  Harry  and  Jack 
started  for  the  abode  of  Harry's  fiancee,  the 
latter  having  explained  to  Helen  the  cause  of 
his  possible  non-appearance.  Jack  had  just  re- 
marked to  his  friend: 

"I  think  the  joke  has  been  kept  up  long  enough, 
and  you  had  better  tell  me  the  young  lady's  name 
before  I  meet  her,"  when  Harry  slapped  him  on 
the  back,  turned  sharply  and  mounted  the  steps 


174  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


of  the  house  Jack  was  about  to  pass,  calling  his 
friend  to  follow. 

For  a  moment,  Jack  did  not  notice  where  he 
was,  but  when  he  realized  that  the  house  they 
were  about  to  enter  was  the  abode  of  Marian 
Heath,  he  grabbed  his  friend  violently  by  the 
arm,  just  as  the  latter  rang  the  bell. 

"My  God,  man !  don't  tell  me  Marian  Heath  is 
the  girl !"  gasped  he. 

"Why,  yes,"  Harry  responded,  smiling.  "But 
how  did  you  guess?" 

Before  Jack  could  reply,  the  door  was  opened, 
and  Harry,  inquiring  for  Miss  Heath,  entered, 
Jack  following  in  a  dazed  way. 

"Miss  Heath  is  not  in,  Mr.  Taylor,"  said  the 
maid,  "but  here  is  a  letter,"  and  she  handed  him 
one  from  a  card  tray.  "Miss  Heath  directed  me 
to  deliver  it  to  you  when  you  called." 

Harry  hastily  snatched  the  note  with  the  be- 
loved handwriting,  opened  it  and  read  as  follows : 

"Dear  Harry: — Eather  than  meet  you  face  to 
face,  after  the  sin  I  have  committed,  I  have  igno- 
miniously  taken  flight,  and  when  you  receive  this 
I  will  be  speeding  toward  Buffalo. 

"Harry,  I  am  not  what  you  thought  me,  and  bit- 
ter as  it  is  for  me  to  let  you  see  me  as  I  am,  I  feel 
that  you  are  entitled  to  know  the  whole  truth. 


Love  Lost  and  Found.  175 


"Three  years  ago,  I  met  a  plausible,  fascinating 
man  of  the  world,  named  Fenelon  Despard,  and, 
as  my  parents,  wiser  than  I,  discerned  his  real 
character  and  forbade  my  further  acquaintance 
with  him,  I  eloped  and  married  him  clandestinely. 
The  fate  which  almost  invariably  overtakes  such 
unions,  where  respect  for  and  trust  in  each  other 
is  impossible,  did  not  spare  us,  and,  after  a  few 
months  of  misery  and  recrimination,  wTe  parted 
forever,  although  neither  took  legal  steps  to  be 
free. 

"I  came  to  New  York,  determined  to  enjoy  my- 
self, not  caring  if  in  so  doing,  I  trampled  a  few 
hearts  under  foot,  but  I  never  dreamed  that  our 
intimacy  would  culminate  in  this,  and  such  would 
not  have  been  the  case  had  I  not  truly  learned  to 
love  you.  When  this  knowledge  came  to  me,  I 
thought  it  too  late  to  draw  back,  and,  therefore, 
when  you  so  unexpectedly  proposed  last  evening, 
I  drowned  conscience  for  awhile  and  resolved  at 
all  hazards  to  have  a  few  hours  of  happiness. 

"Can  you  forgive  me,  Harry?  I  know  I  can 
offer  no  excuse  which  would  palliate  my  sin,  but 
if  you  can  bear  to  think  of  me  at  all,  remember 
that  your  agony  is  nothing  to  that  which  I  suffer, 
knowing  as  I  do,  that  it  was  my  hand  which  in- 
flicted the  wound ;  and  endeavor  to  give  one  kind, 
pitying  thought  to  me ;  and,  after  time  may  have 


176  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


mitigated  your  pain,  may  you  be  able  to  say,  'It 
is  better  to  have  loved  and  lost,  than  never  to  have 
loved  at  all/  as  does  your  sorrowing  and  repentant 

"Marian/' 

Jack,  watching  Harry's  face,  during  the  perusal 
of  this  missive,  saw  him  turning  gradually  paler. 
Conjecturing  the  cause,  he  waited,  until  his  friend 
had  finished  reading,  and  then  approaching  him 
with  outstretched  hand,  said  sympathetically: 

"I  know  all,  Harry." 

Harry  lifted  his  eyes,  full  of  mute  despair,  to 
his  friend's  face,  then  silently  grasped  his  hand, 
turned,  and  the  two  left  the  house  and  slowly 
walked  to  their  home. 

Although  Harry  spoke  no  word,  he  could  not 
help,  through  all  his  pain,  recalling  the  words  of 
a  German  song  he  once  had  heard : 

"Es  war  so  schon  gewesen,  es  hat  nicht  sollen 
sein." 


A  Farewell  Stag.  177 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    FAREWELL  STAG. 

Harry  Taylor  was  not  one  of  those  morbid  na- 
tures which  mourn  over  a  lost  cause  long.  Senti- 
ment with  him  was  not  so  deeply  ingrained  that  a 
disappointment  in  love  could  turn  the  well-spring 
of  all  his  youthful  hopes  to  bitterness  and  gall.  In 
Other  words,  he  did  not  allow  his  heart  to  be 
rapped  so  hard  that  a  disappointment  would  in- 
terfere with  his  digestion  very  long.  To  prove  this 
and  to  shake  off  the  little  cloud  of  gloom  which  he 
could  not  disperse  immediately,  Harry  decided  to 
have  a  jollification  on  his  approaching  birthday,  in 
which  his  friend  Harding  should  participate.  The 
celebration,  a  "stag,"  of  course,  he  mentally  re- 
solved should  serve  to  mark  epochs  in  the  careers 
of  both.  On  the  part  of  Jack,  it  should  mean  an 
eternal  farewell  of  bachelorhood,  and  on  his  own 
part,  the  dedication  of  himself  to  single-blessedness 
and  the  enjoyment  of  those  pleasures  which  do  not 
go  so  well  with  the  tranquil  current  of  a  benedict's 


178  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


existence.  As  it  happened,  the  affair  formed  a 
fitting  finale  to  this  little  serio-comic  romance. 

A  number  of  invitations  had  been  issued  to  such 
men  as  the  friends  more  particularly  knew,  and 
the  affair  was  to  be — as  Harry  said — "without 
frills." 

"Just  a  good  time,  that's  all.  Drink  all  we've 
a  mind  to,  and  cut  up  all  the  capers  we  can,  just 
like  in  the  old  days  at  college,  only  a  trifle  hotter." 

So  the  preparations  were  accordingly  made  and 
the  friends  were  busy  until  late  the  night  before, 
completing  them  and  getting  all  things  in  readi- 
ness. 

The  stag  was  to  be  given  in  one  of  the  private 
dining-rooms  of  the  club,  more  suitable  for  quiet, 
snug  affairs  than  the  large  Hall  of  Mysteries. 
Jack  had  excused  himself  to  his  fiancee  for  the  oc- 
casion, and  early  the  next  evening,  the  two  friends 
started  for  the  club  to  be  ready  for  the  arrival  of 
Harry's  guests.  These  comprised  a  few  members 
and  many  outsiders,  the  friends  having  invited  as 
many  of  their  old  classmates  and  Chicago  friends 
as  it  had  been  possible  to  find  in  the  city. 

The  guests  soon  began  to  make  their  appearance. 
They  made  a  lively  lot  of  young  fellows,  brimming 
over  with  the  devil,  and,  even  on  a  first  glance  at 
their  merry  faces,  there  was  evidence  that  there  was 
going  to  be  a  hot  time  in  the  old  club  that  night. 


A  Farewell  Stag.  179 


Harry  was  absent  from  the  reception  room  for 
a  moment,  when  a  batch  of  his  old  college  chums 
arrived. 

"Where  is  the  leading  member  of  this  bright  lit- 
tle Sunday-school  class?"  inquired  one  of  these. 

Just  then  Harry  entered,  and  the  boys  made  one 
mad  rush  for  him,  grabbing  his  hands,  ears  or 
hair,  not  caring  which,  in  their  efforts  to  be  first  in 
offering  congratulations ;  Harry  meanwhile,  laugh- 
ing and  exclaiming: 

But  the  boys  waited  for  no  fine  speeches,  and 
all  aided  in  carrying  him  upstairs,  en  passant,  pok- 
ing his  shoulders  through  a  transom  and  finally 
placing  him  on  his  feet  on  top  of  a  radiator. 

"Speech !  speech !"  shouted  the  boys,  "or  you're 
a  dead  one." 

"Well,"  said  Harry,  "considering  the  pressing 
nature  of  your  request,  I  will  say  a  few  'well 
chosen'  words.  Before  I  begin,  however,  I  would 
beseech  some  one  among  you  to  hand  me  a  cake  of 
ice,  as  I  am  a  pretty  warm  baby  in  my  present 
position;  but,  as  I  was  saying  " 

"What  the  deuce  were  you  saying?"  came  from 
a  corner  of  the  room. 

"Oh,  this  is  so  embarrassing;  you  ought  to  be 
more  considerate  of  my  feelings  than  to  guy  me 
before  this  august  company. 

"Now,  boys,  with  your  kind  attention,  I  will 


180  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


tell  you  the  history  of  my  life,  and  I  know  you  will 

be  intensely  interested,  but  then  it  is  so  d  

warm  up  here  that  1*11  omit  a  few  of  the  less  im- 
^  portant  features." 

"Thank  heaven,"  murmured  another. 

"You  know  that  I  was  foolish  enough  to  be  born 
twenty-four  years  ago,  thereby  inflicting  an  in- 
cubus on  my  folks,  and  misery  on  my  friends,  all 
of  whom  have  rued  the  occurrence  ever  since. 
Those  who  reared  me  never  dreamed  that  I  would 
live  to  reach  such  a  height  as  that  on  which  I  am 
now  poised,  and,  although  I  am  sufficiently  con- 
ceited to  claim  the  honor  for  myself,  still  I  owe 
all  to  my  friends,  who  have  given  me  a  helping 
hand.  Boys,  I  thank  you  for  the  gentle  treatment 
accorded  me  to-night,  for,  as  far  as  I  can  judge, 
no  bones  have  been  broken,  and,  barring  a  slight 
fracture  of  the  skull,  I  am  still  in  the  best  of 
health,  only  becoming  hungrier  every  moment; 
so,  hoping  that  you  are  content  with  this  burst  of 
eloquence,  I  remain,  your  genial  host,  Harry/' 

Here,  amid  the  tumultuous  applause  of  his 
guests,  he  jumped  from  the  radiator,  and,  shout- 
ing: "Come  on,  boys,  let's  get  to  business,"  led  the 
way  to  the  dining-room. 

"Harry's  such  a  good  fellow,  it's  a  pity  his  cele- 
bration comes  but  once  a  year,"  one  of  the  boys  re- 
marked. 


A  Farewell  Stag.  181 


"Guess  I'd  be  living  on  hardtack  the  rest  of  my 
da)Ts  if  it  didn't,"  was  the  response  of  the  jovial 
Harry. 

The  waiters  busily  replenished  the  glasses  as  soon 
as  emptied,  the  boys  taking  no  note  of  what  enor- 
mous quantities  they  were  consuming. 

After  several  toasts  had  been  hilariously  drunk, 
the  variety  performers  arrived,  one  of  whom  upon 
entering  the  room,  walked  to  the  table  at  which 
the  boys  were  seated.  He  was  a  tall,  lanky  sort  of  a 
man,  with  smoothly  shaven  face,  large  nose,  rather 
high  forehead  and  black  hair,  a  la  pompadour.  An 
apparently  irresistible  smile,  which  overspread 
his  countenance,  gave  him  a  comical  and  taking 
expression.  From  the  head  of  the  table,  he  ad- 
dressed the  party  as  follows : 

"Gentlemen,  I  am  suspected  of  being  a  humor- 
ist, but  that's  a  mistake.  I  will  tell  you  in  strict 
confidence,  that  on  the  contrary,  I  am  a  tragedian, 
that  is  to  say,  every  time  I  attempt  to  be  humorous 
a  tragedy  is  sure  to  be  enacted,  and  I  am  generally 
the  victim.  My  jokes  are  usually  rather  dry. 
You,  gentlemen,  are  the  contrary,  so  that  I  think 
by  amalgamating  matters,  we  might  be  able  to  get 
along  nicely." 

He  continued  his  remarks  in  a  similar  strain  for 
some  time,  proving  his  success,  as  he  kept  the  boys 
in  a  constant  uproar  of  laughter. 


182  A  Serpent's  Feast, 


He  was  followed  by  two  girls,  who  were  the  pos- 
sessors of  rather  poor  voices,  but  extremely  limber 
feet,  and,  finding  this  to  be  the  unanimous  verdict 
of  the  audience,  judging  by  the  lavish  applause  of 
the  latter  and  the  faint  appreciation  shown  for 
the  former,  they  wisely  confined  themselves  to  the 
terpsichorean  accomplishment. 

They  were  succeeded  by  four  coons,  who  sang 
quartettes  with  really  melodious  voices,  but  when 
the  refrains  were  taken  up  by  some  of  the  least 
sober  of  the  party,  some  sounds,  the  like  of  which 
was  never  heard  in  a  concert  room,  were  the  re- 
sult. 

The  company  at  this  stage  presented  a  rather 
amusing  spectacle;  many  had  sunk  pretty  low  in 
their  chairs,  with  their  limbs  stretched  before 
them,  looking  thoroughly  dopey.  Two  had  fallen 
asleep  in  spite  of  the  noise,  and  others,  oblivious  of 
the  affairs  of  their  entertainers,  were  attempting 
to  waltz  at  the  further  end  of  the  room,  the  mo- 
tion naturally  making  them  more  dizzy  every  mo- 
ment, so  that  they  swayed  from  side  to  side,  like  a 
ship  sailing  through  heavy  seas. 

One  of  the  boys  took  up  the  Worcestershire  sauce 
and  was  about  to  drink  from  it  when  his  neighbor, 
who  was  a  little  less  under  the  influence,  snatched 
it  from  him,  and  remained  deaf  to  the  pleadings 
of  the  other  for  the  return  of  the  bottle. 


A  Farewell  Stag.  133 


At  this  point,  one  of  those  still  at  the  table  be- 
gan to  relate  rather  racy  stories,  and  was  quickly 
joined  by  the  dancers.  Soon  tiring  of  this,  how- 
ever, and  the  timepieces  showing  the  wee  sma' 
hours,  some  one  suggested  going  home,  and  cabs 
were  promptly  put  into  requisition,  several  of  the 
party  requiring  the  services  of  two  servants  at  least 
to  get  them  into  the  vehicles. 

Among  the  guests  that  evening  was  Clifford  St. 
John,  who  had  been  invited  as  a  return  compli- 
ment, owing  him  from  the  friends,  for  his  invite  to 
the  "Silly"  dinner. 

Clifford,  always  on  the  qui  vive  for  a  good  time, 
felt  no  scruples  about  accepting  the  invitation,  al- 
though knowing  that  he  would  meet  there  at  least 
two  men  who  had  been  suitors  for  the  same  hand 
that  he  had  himself  been  refused. 

At  a  jolly  party  of  bachelors,  Clifford  could 
make  as  good  showing  as  the  average  one  if  he 
tried  to  do  so,  and  knew  enough  to  bury  his  snob- 
bishness on  such  an  occasion. 

When  fully  half  the  guests  had  departed  and  the 
others  were  rapidly  preparing  to  follow  them,  one 
of  those  odd  things  happened  which  always  lend 
such  a  fitting  climax  to  affairs,  that  they  half 
make  one  believe  in  predestination. 

Every  one  was  in  that  sublime  condition  which 
is  but  one  step  from  the  ridiculous,  when  into  the 


184  A  Serpent's  Feast. 


room  uninvited  and  unexpected,  walked  an  indi- 
vidual whom  at  least  two  persons  instantly  rec- 
ognized as  Fenelon  Despard. 

The  newcomer  was  in  excellent  shape  to  join  the 
assembled  group,  for,  although  irreproachably  clad 
in  evening  attire,  he  had  some  difficulty  in  steer- 
ing his  way  up  to  the  table,  at  which  he  seated 
himself  as  nonchalantly  as  if  he  had  been  an  old 
friend  and  a  specially  invited  guest. 

"Shay,  old  boy/'  he  commenced,  addressing  him- 
self to  the.  host,  who,  by  some  inscrutable  instinct 
he  recognized  in  the  person  of  Harry  Taylor, 
"'scuse  my  interruption.  Just  got  back  from  San 
Francisco,  and  heard  you  were  having  a  good  time, 
s'thought  'd  drop  in.  Heard  just  now,  too,  a  lady 
had  been  here  looking  for  me.  Tell  me  on  yJ  honor 
is  that  true?   If  so,  ?m  going  pretty  soon." 

"You  needn't  hurry  on  that  account/'  replied 
Harry,  his  features  expanding  into  a  voluminous 
smile  at  the  absurdity  of  the  situation.  "The  lady 
to  whom  you  refer  called  for  you  some  weeks  ago, 
and  I  learn  left  a  week  ago  for  Buffalo.  The  same 
I  think  I  am  correct  in  presuming  is  your  wife." 

"Eight  again;  shake  hands  on  that,  old  man. 
Best  wife  I  ever  had.  But  I  don't  want  to  meet 
her  to-night,  anyhow.  Going  to  sober  up  and 
look  after  her  s'm  other  day.    Thanks  for  your 


A  Farewell  Stag.  185 


information.  It's  a  great  relief.  FH  retire  now. 
Please  'xs'cuse  the  interruption/' 

"Oh,  don't  hurry  away,  Despard,"  said  Harry. 
"Just  make  yourself  at  home  now  you're  here.  I'll 
order  up  some  more  wine." 

The  humor  of  the  situation  was  growing  on  the 
host,  as  he  thought  over  the  events  of  the  past  few 
weeks,  his  experience  with  Marian  Heath  having 
had  its  beginning  in  the  same  building  and  its 
culmination  in  this  farcical  manner  with  her  hus- 
band, in  at  the  death  of  the  stag. 

"You  needn't  get  fidgety,"  added  Harry. 
"Women  are  barred  here,  at  least  for  this  evening. 
So,  while  we  may  drink  their  health  and  sing 
their  praises,  we  need  not  fear  their  untimely  ap- 
pearance, and  you'll  have  plenty  of  time  for  good 
resolutions  to-morrow.  Ah,  here's  the  wine. 
Drink,  Despard !  Clink,  Jack !  St.  John,  touch 
glasses !  Here  goes  !  Here's  to  the  fairest  woman 
each  one  knows  and  to  her  the  best  of  fortune !" 

The  glasses  clinked  and  the  revelry  went  ob- 
liviously on  until  gray  dawn  crept  through  the 
blinds  of  the  Knockabout  Club.  Then*  four  men 
who  had  been  scorched  in  one  flame,  four  men 
who  had  seen  fascination  in  the  same  eyes,  for- 
got, forgave  and  laughed,  perhaps,  at  their  folly, 
for  that  is  the  way  of  men  the  wide,  wide  world 
over. 


